


Star-Crossed

by captive_hetalian



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angel Lithuania, Angels, Fae & Fairies, Fairy Female China, Getting Back Together, Incubus France, Incubus South Korea, M/M, Mild Smut, Slight enemies to lovers, Succubi & Incubi, Vampire America (Hetalia), Witches and Warlocks, and not very often, focus is on action and AmeLiet angst, hopefully, star crossed lovers, star-crossed lovers, starts with a break-up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:56:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23559475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captive_hetalian/pseuds/captive_hetalian
Summary: Alfred knew he shouldn't fall in love with a human. It never ended well, and many would argue it was impossible for beings like him to love in the first place. He's starting to think they're right. Does he love Tadas, or is it his possessive nature telling him Tadas is his and only his? All he knows is he wants to win him back, but when circumstances bring the past to Alfred's front door, Tadas is put in danger. And Alfred isn't sure if he's strong enough to keep him safe.But unbeknownst to him, Tadas is an angel on an assignment to track down someone dead-set on opening the Gates of Hell. And Alfred just might be the key. Tadas knew getting into a relationship would be dangerous, and now he has to ask himself whether or not he's willing to sacrifice the man he thinks just might have managed to break through the walls he kept around his heart.
Relationships: America/Lithuania (Hetalia), England/Germany (Hetalia), Prussia/South Italy (Hetalia), Secondary:
Comments: 10
Kudos: 26





	1. Box of Chocolates

**Author's Note:**

> Tadas = Lithuania  
> Ásgeir = Iceland  
> Mikhael = Finland

Tadas slammed the door in Alfred’s face.

The blonde’s falling smile rose back into place when the door reopened a crack, only for Tadas to snatch the box of chocolates out of his hand before slamming the door on him again.

“I’ll…” Alfred’s smile wilted, blue eyes stinging with tears he dared not shed. Not here. “I’ll… take that as a ‘I’ll think about it.’”

The porch light went out, plunging Alfred into darkness.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he turned away and followed the narrow walkway past the well-maintained garden and yard to the sidewalk. The smell emanating from the trash and compost bins by the road made Alfred wrinkle his nose; he decided to hold his breath until he was inside his car.

Refusing to blink, Alfred forced himself to keep his tears back as he brought the car’s engine to life.

“Bluetooth audio,” Alfred commanded, his cellphone already held onto the dash by the built-in magnet. He started doing a three-point turn, having to stop as a kid biked past. “Call Leon.”

Leon didn’t answer, but he should be in his analytics class right now.

“Hey,” Alfred said with forced cheeriness as he turned to leave the neighborhood. “So… something came up, and I can’t make mine and Tad’s eight o’clock reservation at the Vargas Vineyard. Cancelling this close to the time has a fine and royally pisses off Romano, so how would you and Ásgeir like to have a date night there? I can call Feliciano ahead to let him know, so I’ll still be paying, don’t worry. Consider it a way-early birthday gift, since you’ll be heading back to your parents’ place for the summer. Just let me know, soon, dude.”

He ended the call and sighed. If Leon’s pride outweighed his stomach and his eagerness to impress Ásgeir, then Alfred would ask Erzsébet. She’d only just started dating Kateryna last week, though, and Kateryna seemed like a modest girl. She might feel overwhelmed being taken to such a high-end restaurant so early in the relationship.

It would have been better if Tadas had accepted Alfred’s apology, but he’d known there was the possibility he wouldn’t.

Mikhael had warned him. He was always warning him.

Halfway back to Alfred’s house, Leon called back to accept Alfred’s offer with several thank-yous and a promise to send something special for Alfred’s birthday, which was a few days after Leon’s. Alfred assured him a gift wasn’t necessary, but Leon was adamant and then hung up after saying he was going to let his boyfriend know.

Smiling, Alfred commanded, “Call Feli.”

After a moment, Feliciano picked up. “Hello, hello! Are you and Tadas on your way? Gilbert is going to owe Romano money.”

Romano seriously put down money on Tadas forgiving Alfred? No wonder he insisted on reserving one of the balcony tables for them.

Alfred thought he could feel his heart pinch at the thought of sitting alone tonight. He tried to tell himself that it would let him avoid questions about his diet; Tadas used to insist he thought Alfred ate too little and even dropped hints, worrying it might be a disorder. It made him feel guilty, keeping secret after secret and telling lie after lie. They had all finally added up, but telling Tadas the truth was out of the question.

“I’m actually giving my reservation to a friend and his boyfriend,” Alfred replied, and he frowned when he heard Feliciano sigh. “Their names are Leon and Ásgeir. Leon will probably give his last name, Wang.”

Feliciano was quiet for a moment, probably hoping Alfred would say more about what happened. “I can bring wine and dessert to your place. You shouldn’t be alone after a break-up.”

“Fel—”

“I’ll be there about nine or nine-thirty! I can’t—”

“Feli—”

“—be there any sooner, sorry. See you later!”

“Feli!”

But he’d already hung up, and Alfred groaned, feeling his fangs extend due to his frustration.

Feliciano meant well, but, honestly, he was nosy more than anything. He was training to become head chef at the restaurant, but since he rarely took a day off, his grandfather would probably drive Feliciano to Alfred’s with the wine and dessert himself.

And if Feliciano was heading over, Gilbert would find out and invite himself. He may have trusted Alfred not to hurt Tadas, but he wasn’t about to let his boyfriend’s younger brother be alone with a vampire.

Honestly, Alfred would welcome the intrusion. Gilbert would help lead Feliciano away from getting answers he was better off not knowing.

As expected, a text from Gilbert pinged on Alfred’s phone soon as he pulled up into his steep driveway. He turned onto the small, concrete lot in front of the garden and wrap-around porch, where the land levelled off.

After killing the engine, Alfred undid his seatbelt and picked up his phone to read Gilbert’s text:  _ Feli’s bringing cannolis. Drink enough to eat a couple so you don’t hurt his feelings. _

_ You’re a shitty Hunter _ , Alfred sent back, and Gilbert’s immediate response was a middle finger emoji.

It was followed by another text:  _ EX-Hunter, but I'm willing to make exceptions _ .

_ You’d never kill your son’s best fwiend~ 0w0  _ Alfred slammed the car door and followed the short walkway that led to the porch’s wooden steps.

_ Say OwO again and I’ll stake you in the heart on principle _ , Gilbert sent, and Alfred laughed.

A little over a century ago, Alfred had rescued Gilbert from getting stoned by his Hunter clan after he got caught falling in love with a dhampir. Unfortunately, the dhampir girl had already been beheaded and her body burned.

Thankfully, they hadn’t known about Ludwig. Female dhampirs could only give birth to dhampirs (male dhampirs were born sterile), and since dhampirs were able to hide among humans much more easily than vampires, Hunters didn’t know nearly as much about them. So, Gilbert had been diving head-first into deep waters to figure out how to raise him, Alfred sticking around and tracking down another dhampir to help them.

That was how he’d met Mikhael, the closest person he could consider a father since being taken from his family.

Mikhael was approaching his fourth century of life, though, so he didn’t have long. Fifty more years at most. A long time for a human; a drop in the bucket for beings like them.

“Stop thinking about that,” Alfred told himself as he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. “Hello, Astrophe.”

The light brown cat purred loudly as he wound around Alfred’s legs. The huge ball of fluff had darker brown fur on his paws and tail as well as around his neck, making him look like he had a mane. There were even dark marks on his face that made it look like he was wearing glasses. He’d been the runt in his litter, but that was impossible to see nowadays. He was also the first pet Alfred had ever had that didn’t run away from him the first chance it got.

When he picked up Astrophe, the fluffball flopped over in his arms and purred louder, allowing the vampire to carry him past the den and staircase and into the kitchen. It wasn’t fully-stocked, since Alfred didn’t eat and had only had a few guests over the years, so Astrophe’s favorite wet food and treats filled most of the cabinets. There were some blood bags in the fridge, but if Alfred wanted to be able to eat without throwing up the food immediately after, he’d need to take blood straight from the vein.

“You only need me, because you can’t open the cans yourself,” Alfred said in a low voice, and he chuckled when Astrophe chirped as though agreeing.

Astrophe made a sound of protest when Alfred set him down, but soon as he saw the vampire heading towards the fridge, he started meowing and ran to wind around his legs again. He didn’t stop until the contents of the can had plopped into his bowl by the kitchen island, and Alfred warned him to slow down as he filled the water bowl.

It was only seven, but Alfred preferred to travel a way’s out to find donors. There was just enough time to travel to Everett to quickly find a drunk wandering back from a bar and return before Feliciano and Gilbert arrived. Feliciano had said he’d be here at nine o’clock or 9:30, but that meant he’d be here closer to ten, unless his grandfather convinced him to leave earlier.

Alfred’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

_ Speak of the Devil _ , he thought, groaning when he saw it was a text from Feliciano:

_ Nonnuccio said helping a friend is more important than work, and Gil wants to join, too, so we’ll be there in about an hour! See you soon! _

“Goddammit,” Alfred huffed.

He set his phone onto the counter and ran towards the stairs, making Astrophe jump in surprise when he passed him. Within moments, he was up the stairs and inside his bedroom, blackout curtains hanging in front of the wide windows behind an antique armoire. He switched out his slacks, button-up, wingtips, and tie for dark jeans, a T-shirt, sneakers, and a black hoodie. He also put on the pair of glasses he kept in the drawer of the nightstand next to his coffin. The glasses had been enchantment by Gilbert long ago, before Ludwig started feeding him his blood to keep him alive.

Alfred didn’t want to risk talking to a Hunter or making a deal with a witch to get the enchantment redone, so he wore the glasses sparingly.

Within minutes, Alfred was in an alley downtown, eyes hazel-brown and a smattering of freckles covering his face and neck. His hair was longer and auburn, his black hood pulling curls forward, so they hung over his eyes. He waited with a joint in hand as he blew smoke into the air.

“Sharin’?” someone asked as he stepped closer to Alfred.

His cell phone was out, and Alfred smiled when he saw Pokémon Go on the screen. It lit up the guy’s pale, freckled face, stubble covering his strong jaw.

“Do I get to know the name of the person I’m sharing with?” he asked, making his voice sound gravellier and holding out the joint.

Taking it, the guy leaned against the wall beside Alfred, foot propped up behind him. He took a long drag and then breathed out slowly as though getting ready to do a yoga pose.

“Alistair,” he murmured, handing the joint back. This close, Alfred could see that his eyes were green. “And you?”

“Last name Crowley?” Alfred joked before taking a drag of the joint. He smiled as Alistair rolled his eyes. “I’m Jacob.”

“Not gonna sniff my arse, are you?” Alistair smirked and took the joint back.

It took a moment for Alfred to realize he was connecting the name Jacob to  _ Twilight _ . “Touché.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

Looking at the ground, Alfred crossed his arms but kept up a nervous smile. “I’m usually easy to miss.”

“Nonsense.” Smoke lifted around Alistair’s face, and Alfred glanced up, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit. “I woulda noticed thoo. Across a crowded room, even. Just… something about thoo…”

His Orkney accent was becoming more pronounced, and it looked like Alistair was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His foot fell to the ground, and he dropped the joint, hand catching the wall. Alfred smiled and reached around his neck, pulling him closer. His breath smelled of marijuana and goblin fruit. Stong, sometimes addictive stuff for humans, but the time it would take for Alfred’s venom to pass through his system would allow for Alistair to wake up without feeling the worst of the fruit’s effects.

At worst, he’d end up with brain fog for a couple days, maybe a bit giggly and feeling the need to touch or embrace people.

“What’re—?”

Alistair’s eyes widened as Alfred leaned forward, his arms moving downwards until they quickly latched around his wrists and held them behind his back. He used his body to pin Alistair to the wall, moving slightly to the side and biting down on the crook of Alistair’s neck before he could think to yell out in protest.

The venom worked quickly, and Alistair was soon still and looking upwards with half-lidded eyes. His breath started to turn quick and shallow, and Alfred felt Alistair harden—he was rather susceptible to goblin fruit, it seemed; he must have eaten it before—as he moved around slightly. He wanted to keep himself angled in such a way that those passing by would think him a guy just giving his boyfriend a hickey after the two of them had a few too many drinks.

Alistair was starting to slip, unable to keep himself upright, and Alfred moved with him, wrapping one arm around him as he lowered Alistair into a sitting position as his other hand went to the other side of his neck to check his pulse.

He smelled something like musk mixed with roses and honey mixed with Alistair’s natural scent, but Alfred ignored it and drank. He needed to get back home soon.

Stopping just before Alistair would need an emergency transfusion, Alfred licked the wounds to close them and took Alistair’s phone out of his jeans pocket. After pressing the emergency call option, Alfred dialed 911.

“Please help, he just passed out! I don’t know what happened. Please, just hurry…,” Alfred whimpered into the phone when the operator answered. He gave the location and then dropped the phone and ran off when the operator started asking questions about Alistair’s breathing and pulse.

Alistair would be fine until the ambulance arrived.


	2. A Witch's Deal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Krisjanis = Latvia  
> Sigurd = Norway
> 
> I took the term 'lilum' from the Beautiful Creatures books to use as a gender-neutral term for succubi and incubi.

“You should have tried singing to him!” Feliciano said as he poured wine into three glasses. Gilbert was taking up the whole couch, Astrophe curled up atop his feet.

Adjusting the cat-ear headband keeping his damp hair out of his face, Alfred plopped down into the recliner he’d pulled over to the coffee table in his den. He thanked Feliciano for the glass of wine and pulled his legs in, so he was sitting cross-legged, knees propped up by the arm rests. He’d put on sweatpants and a Groot hoodie after taking a shower to get the smell of weed off him before Feliciano and Gilbert arrived.

While recreational marijuana was legal in this state, Feliciano wasn’t a fan, and Gilbert was prone to migraines. Even perfumes and cologne triggered them.

“He would have chucked the chocolates at my head if I’d tried to sing,” Alfred replied before taking a sip of wine. “Do you think I should give him space for a while?”

Taking a glass from Feliciano, Gilbert offered, “I’d talk to Krisjanis or Eduard for advice.” He shifted a bit to sit up and drink his wine, and Astrophe crawled closer to slump over his feet again. “I’m sure he’s ranted about you, and Eduard at least likes having you around, from what I’ve heard from Mikhael.”

In the last half-century of their lives, dhampirs usually kept to themselves, but on one of his rare outings, Mikhael ran into Eduard and seemed to have taken a liking to him.

“Yeah….” Alfred stared at his glass of wine, wondering if Gilbert was only giving advice for Feliciano’s sake.

He may care about Alfred, but he thought him getting into relationships was a bad idea. Humans were fragile, dhampirs and nephilim were few and far between, the fae couldn’t be trusted as far as they could be thrown as far as Gilbert was concerned, lilum usually weren’t interested in beings they couldn’t feed from, angels were out of the question, and vampires were territorial and possessive. They didn’t usually get along with one-another well.

It was that possessiveness that Alfred regularly had to keep in check, but when he got hungry, it got harder to keep a hold on his instincts.

And now Tadas hated him.

Maybe he should let him go. If he got this angry over an outburst, then what would he think after learning the whole truth?

“It sounds like a great idea!” Feliciano cheered, trying to be the voice of optimism. It was hard not to smile in return. “He and Krisjanis might have more ideas how to make the apology more personal. Dinner at my family’s restaurant was a really good idea, but he might have seen it as you trying to brush things away or even bribe him, not like you’re actually sorry.”

Gilbert nodded, and Alfred slowly blew out a steady stream of air, still tasting blood, weed, and goblin fruit. He took another sip of wine, being careful not to swallow too much in one go.

“I can see that,” he said after a while. “I guess I just wanted to pretend we were like we had been.”

After a sip of wine, Feliciano responded, “That’s not a good stance to have after a fight.” He got up from the armchair and set his glass down to open the go-away box of cannolis. “Sakura and I have never had a fight as big enough as this, but stuff comes up. We hardly fought at all the first few weeks we dated, but then we argued just all the time.”

His shoulders fell, and Gilbert stifled a chuckle as he accepted a cannoli. “Sounds like the honeymoon phase ended, and everything that bothered you two that was simmering the whole time finally burst through the surface.”

Bringing Alfred a cannoli, Feliciano nodded, amber eyes looking sad at the memories, even though he and Sakura were doing fine now.

“Thanks,” said Alfred. “How did you and Sakura get past the fighting?”

Feliciano was silent as he walked back to his chair, and he ate one of his cannolis first. “Talking, mostly. And compromise. Like… I make sure to be quieter when she’s streaming, since that’s her work, or I’d even just leave the apartment for a bit during that, but I can’t help that I still need a light in the room at night because of my paranoia, though I’m still working on it.

“So we talk about that, and we’ve tested out other things, like one of those wax melter plug-ins, in case a calming smell helped, but for now, Sakura says wearing an eye mask when she sleeps is good enough. She also doesn’t like to cuddle as much as I do, which I thought for a while meant she didn’t like me as much and that she was going to leave.

“We just had to talk about that and how we prefer to show and receive love. So she cuddles with me more, but I make sure to give her space when she needs it, and I started doing small things around the apartment, like making sure she has enough tampons, since she forgets to buy them and complained a lot about never having them when she needed them, and always keeping edamame in the freezer, since it’s her favorite snack. I also started leaving little notes for her to find when I have to travel for a wine tasting. Or in her suitcase and purse when she has to leave for conventions I can’t join her at.”

Alfred had heard of love languages before, but he didn’t really know much about them. Like Feliciano, he liked cuddling. Tadas did, too, but doing it always made Alfred nervous about Tadas realizing he couldn’t feel his heartbeat, so he’d move away after a while. Had that been giving Tadas the same insecurities as Feliciano?

“He needs to be willing to talk to me first,” said Alfred, and he took a bite of the cannoli when he realized Feliciano was watching him. “God, this is good.”

Beaming, Feliciano thanked him.

“Eduard will help with that first obstacle,” said Gilbert as he got a second cannoli. “For now, make sure to focus on school, too. I expect you to be in pre-med next year.”

Rolling his eye, Alfred took another bite of the cannoli. “You’re such a dad sometimes.”

“And you’re not much older than us,” Feliciano added. “But you talk like you’re older.” He jumped slightly, suddenly nervous. “But it’s cute! It shows you care about us, and I like that.”

“Thanks,” Gilbert laughed, “But really, be friends with that thing”—he pointed at Alfred with his cannoli—“for a few more years, and you’ll age a decade, too.”

“Hey!” Alfred exclaimed. “You don’t get to blame me for you acting like an old geezer.”

“Geezer?!”

The conversation changed to Gilbert’s job at a bar and what he was planning for his and Romano’s anniversary come March. They left after a few hours, after Feliciano had switched from wine to water, so he could drive Gilbert and then himself home. Alfred waited on the porch to watch them back out of the driveway and head back towards the city, waving as they went.

As he turned to go inside, Alfred froze, smelling a new scent—roses and honey with musk milling through it.

_ Alistair _ , Alfred remembered. Alistair had that smell on him, but Alfred had only smelled it after drinking his blood. Almost like a scent-claim.

For the smell to be here now…

“Come out,” Alfred growled into the night.

But no one showed up.

Great. Alistair had already been claimed—by a lilum, most likely—and now they were pissed.

As if Alfred didn’t have enough to worry about right now.

* * *

A vampire. A fucking vampire. How could Tadas have been so blind, so stupid?!

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Tadas sank into the plush butterfly chair he used as a desk chair. He tried to think back to all the signs.

Alfred hardly ate anything. Now Tadas knew it was because food would have made him sick.

Alfred had never wanted to cuddle for long, even though it was obvious he enjoyed it. Likely, he’d feared Tadas noticing he didn’t have a heartbeat, something he  _ should  _ have noticed beforehand.

His skin had always been cold—not like ice, but like newly-turned dirt.

He’d mixed up his slang, but Tadas had assumed he’d gotten into the habit of saying words like  _ groovy  _ or  _ gnarly  _ ironically so often that it became part of his normal speech, like when Eduard saying  _ bruh  _ and  _ wig _ .

That hadn’t explained Alfred using words like  _ zounds  _ or  _ sblood _ , but Tadas had bought the excuse that Alfred and his friends started using such words in place of cursing after seeing the words in the Shakespeare plays they read in high school, and it had stuck.

God, Tadas was an idiot.

But then how did Gilbert and Ludwig fit into it? Both had corroborated Alfred’s story of the old swears they’d said in high school, though neither used them anymore. They did occasionally get their slang mixed up, too, however.

Like when Ludwig walked up to Alfred and Tadas kissing at the park and told them, “Bank’s closed!”

Tadas vaguely recalled hearing that phrase aimed at couples participating in PDA when he’d been in New York City back in the twenties.

But Tadas had seen both Ludwig and Gilbert in daylight, though. Were they dhampirs? Dhampir women rarely gave birth to more than one child, and he was sure the two of them were related. Labor was a painful and draining process for dhampirs even more than it was for humans, but it was possible a witch had been employed by their mother to help with the process.

And  _ rarely  _ wasn’t the same as  _ never _ .

But Gilbert was prone to illness. He got frequent migraines and had to wear reading glasses. He burned easily, unlike dhampirs, but his albinism explained that. He claimed to have diabetes as well and that was why he occasionally fainted and needed to keep his tumbler with him to drink from when he was active, though he’d always been adamant that he didn’t need to be taken to the doctor. Tadas should have questioned that but didn’t; this state was filled with conspiracy theorists who didn’t trust doctors or “Big Pharma,” so he’d assumed Gilbert, despite being otherwise intelligent, was one of those people.

“What are you going to do about him?” asked someone in Enochian.

Tadas jumped at the sudden intrusion, nearly falling out of his chair.

Snickering sounded from the ornate mirror hanging above the dresser, to Tadas’s left. He got up and frowned at Natalya, who smirked. He was one of the few people she showed any emotion besides anger towards, and they had even tried to date for a time during their academy days.

“Hmm….” Natalya’s smirk fell, her expression reverting to her usual Resting Bitch Face. One of her fox-like ears twitched, however, giving away her concern. “You fell hard.”

Tadas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His ring caught a couple of strands of his long, brown hair and yanked them out, making him flinch.

Misinterpreting, Natalya deadpanned, “It takes more than fucking a damned one to Fall.”

Tadas leveled her with a  _ Do I look stupid? _ look. “I already knew that, considering you’ve had your fun with all the lilum you’ve come across since receiving your first assignment.”

“Not  _ all _ ,” Natalya scoffed. “And Yong Soo knows how to treat a woman.”

Tadas smiled as he noticed his friend’s long, bushy tail swish behind her at the mention of her boyfriend—though as far as her supervisors knew, the relationship was purely sexual.

“You wear your ring at home?” Natalya asked, looking at Tadas’s hand as he pulled away the hairs that had gotten caught by the rubies that marked the centers of the twin roses on either side of the signet. “Oh, right, you live with humans. I know you can’t tell me anything about your assignment… but…?”

“It’s a years-long assignment, and I’m sending my reports to your brother.”

“What’s with that face?” Natalya demanded, purple-blue eyes narrowing as her pupils suddenly became almond-shaped.

She always had been over-protective of Ivan. After his affair with a siren had been outed back when the laws were still in the process of changing, he got demoted and basically had to rise through the ranks all over again. It had been an uphill battle, and Tadas couldn’t deny the man had proven himself twice-over.

But all that work and betrayal and prejudice had hardened Ivan’s heart, even to the ones he loved.

He tried hard to be kinder, but years of being shunned or bullied and having to look over his shoulder had made him paranoid and had given him a temper. Tadas tried to be understanding, but a supervisor should be able to keep better control over their emotions. Still, he made sure to keep his frustrations to himself and used velvet gloves when dealing with Ivan.

_ All he wanted was friends, _ according to Natalya.

“Nothing,” Tadas sighed. “I suppose I’m just tired. I haven’t been able to replenish myself recently.”

“Go do that, then.” Natalya crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “The ring will fail if you run out of mana to feed into it. Trust me when I say there’s few things more embarrassing than having your glamour fail in the middle of a crowd.”

“You did make our assignment more interesting, though,” Tadas said, laughing when Natalya scowled to show her fangs. “And the fear of realizing an angel was nearby scared the necromancer enough to show himself, cutting our mission time by more than half.”

“Yes, so we could return to the academy all the sooner, and have our classmates make fun of me for months.”

“They stopped soon as your brother got a job there.”

Smiling now as she glanced away from her mirror, Natalya nodded. “That is true.” She met Tadas’s gaze again. “Go find a Soul Spring now. I can practically see you molting already.”

“You—!”

Natalya disappeared, and the mirror reverted to normal.

Sighing again, Tadas stretched his arms over his head and rose onto the balls of his feet until he felt his spine pop. His shoulder blades tingled, and he rolled his arms back and took deep breaths. He’d put off replenishing for too long, since the nearest Soul Spring was in Utah. Tadas could fly there, but he didn’t have the mana to warp the light around him and make him invisible. He’d need to rely on the witch in Seattle to teleport him there and back, so Tadas could save all his mana to feed into his ring and keep his appearance and aura like that of a human’s.

Tadas grabbed a burner phone from underneath the false bottom in his sock drawer and headed downstairs.

Eduard entered the house and started taking off his sneakers as Tadas grabbed his coat and shoes from the closet in the foyer. Eduard smelled of Thousand Island, vodka, and triple sec.

“Heading out? Change your mind about giving Al the cold shoulder?” He adjusted his glasses as he noted his friend’s scowl. “Guess not. Well, I know you don’t like fruit-flavored chocolates, so mind sharing those?”

“Knock yourself out,” Tadas responded in a monotone as he grabbed his keys. “The box is on my desk. Don’t wait up. I’m going to see if I can find the books I need at the library, and I might as well stay there. It’s hard to concentrate in my room with my laptop and phone.”

Eduard laughed. “I get that. Welp, I’ll help myself to some apology chocolate after a shower. Some stupid Karen dumped her salad and Cosmo on me because she changed her mind on what dressing she wanted and blamed me for getting it wrong.”

That explained the smell. “Sorry you had to deal with that. Did your manager do anything?”

Eduard barked a humorless laugh. “Sure did! Wrote me up right there in the middle of my section and gave the Karen and her Karenites drinks and dessert on the house. At least the people at the table next to theirs were really nice and gave me an extra-big tip after trying to tell my manager it wasn’t my fault.” He sighed. “But if I start bitching, you’ll never get to leave. Go ahead and be free.”

Smiling, Tadas wished Eduard a relaxing night and took his burner phone out of his jeans pocket once he was in his car.

“Sigurd?” Tadas asked when the witch finally answered. “It’s the angel. I need you to get my usual spell ready.”

“What do you have for me?” Sigurd asked after a moment. “I don’t need more of your feathers, and don’t take this personally, but angel blood is an ingredient I would rather not bother with.”

Shit. Tadas didn’t have anything else to trade, and he didn’t want to be in debt to a witch. Especially not one as old as Sigurd.

“If you don’t have anything right now…,” said Sigurd. There was no emotion in his voice, but Tadas could imagine him smiling.

“What if I could get you vampire venom?” Tadas blurted. “I can get a vial of it for you by the new moon.”

Six days. Sigurd didn’t like to wait, but for something like this, maybe…

Silence stretched as Tadas headed towards the ramp for the Five.

“And Dutch Bros. You’re passing through Everett anyway,” Sigurd said finally. “You know my usual order by now.”

“Fine.” Tadas’s shoulders fell as tension left them.

“No later than midnight on the night when the moon starts its next cycle, and the vial should be no smaller than two ounces. Is it a deal?”

“Deal,” Tadas agreed.

Sigurd snapped his fingers over the phone before he hung up, and Tadas dropped the phone and yelled out in pain. The shock made him yank the wheel, and he quickly grasped it to yank it the other way as a horn honked at him. His breathing turned shallow as he sped up and merged onto the interstate.

Sweat beaded along his forehead and the back of his neck, and once Tadas reached a steady cruising speed, he glanced down at the back of his right hand. On it was a burn that resembled a letter in Tengwar script.

“Nerd,” Tadas muttered, grinding his teeth as he continued to drive. “I’d expect a Seal like that from Arthur, not you.”

Pain continued to shoot up Tadas’s arm, though it ebbed as he got closer to Everett. He turned up the music, hoping it would help drown out thoughts of having a witch’s Seal burned into his skin.

And how it meant that he would need to confront Alfred before time ran out.


	3. No Mercy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for the Soul Spring comes from Dennard's Truthwitch and Dekker's Circle trilogy.

Tadas got off the bus with the coffee, feeling his shoulder blades burn as he used up mana to keep the coffee hot and his disguise in place.

His hair was even longer, nearly reaching his waist, and it was straight and black. His eyes were set further apart and brown, his cheekbones were lower and jaw wider to give him a more square-shaped face, and his lips were thin. His skin was pale, practically white compared to his hair, and stubble covered his jaw and the upper part of his neck.

It all felt like wearing too-tight clothes that wouldn’t stop itching, but Tadas had put up with worse on past assignments.

Sigurd’s New Age shop was a little over a mile from the bus stop, but it felt like Tadas had been walking for hours before he finally reached it, the bell above the door giving a soft ding as he entered. The air smelled of nag champa incense, and a long-haired white cat lounged on the table in the back-right corner, where the shop’s part-time cartomancer did Tarot readings. Tadas had never met the cartomancer but knew his name was Matthew.

Tadas set the twenty-four-ounce paper cup onto the check-out counter. “French toast breve.”

The cup disappeared, and the sign on the door turned itself to Closed as the lights flickered before shutting off completely. Thankfully there’d been no one else in the store. Tadas didn’t feel like waiting longer than he absolutely had to.

Drumming his fingertips over the glass case next to the register, Tadas swallowed a groan. “I don’t have good night vision in this form.”

Soft, pale green flames appeared on the ground like will o’ the wisps, disappearing as Tadas followed them around the counter and past the amethyst-bead curtain. The back room was nearly as large as the main body of the shop thanks to a spell supplied by neighboring fae, ceiling-high bookcases covering most of the walls. Sigurd stood on the ladder that ran along them, pulling down a leather-bound book. The pages’ edges were sprayed with gold and glistened as the heat-less flames reappeared and danced around the room.

The flames followed a spiral path, moving clockwise until they circled a magic square in the center of the room.

“Same place as last time?” Sigurd asked as he floated down from the ladder.

The book levitated in front of him, pages flipping to the correct spot, and the witch snapped his fingers. His coffee cup’s top flew off and hovered to the side at the command, and with another hand motion as Sigurd landed, small blocks of butter appeared and fell into the breve.

Tadas watched as lines appeared on the magic square, connecting numbers in a sequence he didn’t care to understand the significance of. “And the same timeframe.”

The lines stopped, a filled-in circle at one end of the intersecting lines and an open circle at the other.

Sigurd recapped his coffee and took a long sip. “Mmhmm.” His indigo eyes glowed as he met Tadas’s gaze. The left one was partially covered by his blond hair, but the rest of his bangs were pulled back by a cross-shaped barrette he claimed to wear ironically. “Do I get anything special from your higher-ups for helping one of theirs so often?”

“I’ll consider bringing your name up to my mission supervisor,” Tadas said sarcastically.

“Hmm.” Sigurd took another long sip from his coffee, closing his eyes as he did so. “Step forward. You know how this goes.” He met Tadas’s gaze again as some of the green flames moved aside to create an opening. “It is truly shameful that angels are allowed to lie when witches and fae cannot.”

There wasn’t time to respond. Before Tadas could blink, he was in a Utah forest, wind shaking bare tree branches and lifting his long, black hair.

His signet ring burned, Tadas hissing as he clutched his right hand to his chest. It felt as though something were moving just beneath his skin over his shoulder blades. As he ran towards where the Soul Spring was, the feeling rolled down his back as his fingernails blackened and grew, becoming sharp. His eyes burned, the color turning brighter until the irises were bright scarlet. Suddenly, he could see, able to dodge branches and twigs. He realized there were cuts on his face and a spiderweb had gotten stuck to his hair, which was wavy and only fell just past his shoulders again.

Blood dripped down Tadas’s hand and arm as he shoved it into his mouth to keep from yelling out, his teeth breaking skin. He was on his knees, doubled over and wings shot out behind him. He shivered, the heat of pain draining and forcing Tadas to feel the late-January cold. His teeth chattered as he lowered his bloodied hand, and the twin locks of cream-colored hair that framed his face shifted forward as he bent down, as though bowing. The rest of his hair was brown again, no more mana available to feed the disguise.

“Fuck,” he huffed.

He’d waited much too long. Any longer, and he would have shown his true self to a witch and put his Soul’s Name at risk of being in a damned one’s hands.

Panting, Tadas crawled forward, seeing the steam rising from the hot spring just ahead. No one was around; an enchantment had been set long ago to pixy-lead any humans that may wander this way away from the Soul Spring.

Combing his hair back with his fingers and getting blood in it in the process, Tadas raised his wings and shifted around. He kicked off his shoes and pulled off his socks, shivering harder the more he undressed. His shirt was in tatters, something Sigurd was sure to tease him about when he returned as well as overcharge him for a replacement, but it didn’t matter otherwise.

The water was scalding after crawling for what felt like hours, but Tadas soon stopped shivering and felt pain melt away as any wounds closed to leave unmarked skin.

He treaded water to keep his head above the rippling surface as Tadas moved towards the center of the Spring.

Below him, the water glowed, and Tadas closed his eyes and stopped kicking. He pulled his legs in and straightened his spine, so he was taking a lotus pose, and he closed his eyes and moved his black and blue-grey wings around, so they shielded his front. He sank slowly towards the bottom, the light growing brighter and faint music spinning around him.

When Tadas was sitting on the very bottom of the Spring and could not hold his breath any longer, he parted his lips, feeling the hot water fill his mouth. As always, fear shot through his body, instincts kicking at him to open his eyes, to kick and claw and get to air as fast as he could.

Instead, Tadas chose to trust the Spring’s magic, and drew in the deepest breath he could.

Pain exploded from his lungs and throat.

Stars danced behind his eyelids.

Then everything went black, and Tadas felt nothing.

* * *

“I don’t like it,” Alfred said in-between sips from his blood bag.

Across the table, Ludwig sipped coffee from the mug Alfred kept here for him. It had schematics of a Dalek pictured on it; his boyfriend had gotten him into  _ Doctor Who _ not long after they started dating last year. It was a long-distance relationship, but Arthur was supposed to move to town in a few weeks. Alfred couldn’t wait to meet the man who’d managed to snag his friend’s heart.

Astrophe purred loudly from Ludwig’s lap as the dhampir replied, “You don’t have to like it, but you have no clue if this lilum has an ally who could get to you during daylight hours.”

“If they did, the ally would have attacked me by now.”

“They could be watching you. I doubt they’re stupid enough to risk waking up a vampire right after he fed, unless they were sure you were young and couldn’t wake up.”

“Right…,” Alfred admitted after a while. He drained the rest of his blood bag and stood up to throw it away. “Not many people are willing to work with lilum, though, and they’re either ballsy, stupid, or newly-made, leaving their scent so close to my house like that.”

Nodding, Ludwig stared at his coffee, as though he could divine answers out of the pale brown liquid. “A few witches, either young and arrogant or old and powerful might ally themselves with a lilum. But unless the witch was under a servitude contract, I would bet on young and arrogant. There are some fae that would ally with a lilum if it meant going after a vampire, and a lilum could easily trick a dhampir or nephilim into helping them, especially if they’re young and without people helping them to know better.”

“Honestly, I think we can cross nephilim and dhampirs off the list of possibilities. Y’all half-lings tend to be ace at keeping yourselves hidden. Did I ever tell you about the time I ran into a nephilim and had no clue ‘till a few days after I’d fed from him and he tracked me down and tried to stake me?” Alfred sat back down and crossed his arms on the round table’s surface.

“You’ve told me that one three times, old man”—Ludwig smiled at Alfred’s sharp look—“and flattered as I am, it’s a mistake to cross out anything immediately.” Ludwig gulped down the rest of his coffee, and Alfred took the mug to refill it. “Honestly, they could have employed a Hunter who’d been shunned from their clan or even a human who’d somehow gained Hunter knowledge. We’ve met a few of them, crude and incomplete their information was.”

“Hmm….” Alfred poured in toasted marshmallow-flavored creamer before the coffee, so he wouldn’t have to waste a spoon to mix them. “Okay, fine, I agree. If we don’t know who the lilum is allied with, though, we don’t really know who to ask.” He handed Ludwig his cup and sat back down. “There’s some people who owe me favors and can be out and about during daylight, but only two—maybe three—can get here by tomorrow.”

As Ludwig sipped his coffee, Alfred thought about the people who owed him favors. He didn’t want to think too much about the lilum at all; doing so brought back bad memories. However, he had to admit that Ludwig was right.

“Okay, two possibilities,” he said. “That angel should probably be the first person I think to ask, but…” Alfred became aware that Ludwig was staring at him, pale blue eyes wide. “Yes…?”

“An angel owes you a favor.”

“Sheltered the poor sap he’d fallen head over heels for so he wouldn’t get killed by the archangels in charge at the time.” Alfred shrugged. “My creator ordered me not to get involved, but I did it anyway to spite him and win a couple favors. I know your dad and I told you never to try getting deals from fae, but this one hadn’t cost me much, and a faery’s favor is almost as good as an angel’s.”

Ludwig looked at him in awe, but the smell of fear made Alfred wrinkle his nose. Ludwig noticed and broke eye-contact, cheeks flushed as he cleared his throat.

“That… that might be good, then,” said Ludwig, still not meeting Alfred’s eyes. “Either of them, if the faery is one who can be out in daylight.”

His palatable fear bothered him; he’d helped raise the boy for God’s sake! Still, he knew the reaction was warranted. As often as Ludwig joked about having heard all his stories thrice-over, there was still much of Alfred’s past he didn’t know. Alfred refused to reveal certain parts of his history, not wanting his friends’ view of him to be tainted. They didn’t even know how old he was.

All they knew was that Alfred had been created by a warlock, not another vampire, and he’d been enslaved via telepathy but had managed to break the mental bonds and escape.

When Ludwig was younger, he’d begged Alfred for more details, saying he wanted to be a fighter just like him and Gilbert and defeat warlocks and ghouls and evil vampires and witches.

He’d been such an idealistic child and teen, and him saying ‘young and arrogant’ earlier had likely brought back his own memories of being just that.

Alfred hadn’t felt fear like that since first waking up and realizing his mind wasn’t his own anymore.

And he’d be damned twice if he had to feel fear like that again.

“Would the lilum stop at me…?” Alfred asked more to himself, and Ludwig finally looked up again but froze, muscles tense.

His fangs extended and his nails grew and sharpened. His eyes flashed to yellow, and his pupils became cat-like as his body switched to fight or flight mode. Astrophe, sensing the change, meowed in protest and jumped down and ran out of the room. However, Ludwig forced himself to remain seated and still as he stared into eyes that had gone completely black.

“I was able to check the hospital records before coming here,” Ludwig said carefully, calmly, even as the stink of his fear filled Alfred’s nostrils. “Alistair is alive and healthy. The lilum shouldn’t feel need to attack anyone close to you just for feeding from his claim.”

“You honestly think a lilum considers ‘an eye for an eye’ justice.” Alfred knew he needed to calm down, but all he could think of was some lilum bastard and their pet attacking Ludwig, Gilbert, or Tadas. “They don’t. They consider it a mercy, and if there’s something lilum cannot be, it’s merciful.”


	4. Francis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little long; I just wanted to go ahead and set this all up.

“I’m busy.” Ivan crossed his muscled arms over his chest, one of his wolf-like ears twitching in annoyance.

Still, he wasn’t ending the call or speaking in High Enochian to burst Alfred’s eardrums. That counted for something, even if that something was little more than curiosity.

Smiling, Alfred leaned forward so his arms were crossed on the vanity table’s surface. “I’m calling in that favor you owe me.”

Which he should already know; Alfred wouldn’t have used up the contacting spell otherwise.

Scowling now, Ivan groused, “You have terrible timing.”

“All I need to know is if the lilum on my ass—”

“Is rather disappointed and left unsatisfied? I can answer you that now.”

Smile stretching so it turned malicious, his lips parting to show his lengthening fangs, Alfred growled, “Not what I need to know.” He then cleared his throat and sat up straighter. “I trespassed on his property, apparently.”

Ivan’s scowl deepened. He, like many angels, saw humans to be below him—to where Alfred wondered if Ivan would even bother protecting them if he weren’t bound by his Oath. Yet, he would usually strike whenever a damned so much as suggested they were better than humans.

He must be under a great deal of stress not to respond to Alfred’s comment with an insult or lecture.

“And...?” Ivan prodded, tone and expression even. His white-furred ears, though, were up and facing forward.

He’d seen Alfred fight, had even fought him hand-to-hand, knew the situation that had brought the vampire into being and the hell he’d gone through in order to gain his freedom. Ivan would never admit it, even if it meant saving his own soul, but he respected the vampire and knew he wouldn’t ask for help lightly.

“It’s more Ludwig’s fear than mine”—Alfred’s mouth twitched when Ivan smiled; he didn’t want the angel thinking he was going soft—“that the lilum may have an ally or someone under their thumb that could attack me during daylight hours.”

“You don’t necessarily need me there, then.” Ivan turned away, and Alfred heard typing and then papers being shuffled. “Admittedly, this lilum could have escaped my notice, but it’s unlikely, seeing as the one in your area is even older than you are—he pre-dates the Visigoths being expelled from Southern Gaul according to my intel, but we aren’t sure by how long. Lilum make your kind look welcoming in terms of marking out territory, and I’ve never met a lilum suicidal enough to cross one that old, even when the same age or older.” Ivan faced the mirror again, holding a folder open in front of him. “He currently goes by the name Francis Bonnefoy, identity bought from the witch in Seattle, and he works at a nightclub in downtown Twinkle City as a bartender. We haven’t been keeping tabs on him beyond that, as he hasn’t killed anyone he’s fed from, and none of those humans have ended up in intensive care or psych wards. None have even turned violent. In other territories he’s fed in for the past decade, this pattern has remained constant, so we’ve decided to label him as Dormant. Maybe you should learn from him, ‘Active, Classification Orange’.”

Alfred ignored the last comment. “I’m not hearing anything about allies.”

“He’s had interactions with the stated witch in Seattle since first arriving in Washington state last month, likely to help with obtaining a new identity.”

“And Sigurd wouldn’t help anyone without a price, and even then, he’d let me know first. He still owes me at least that.”

“Do I need to know what you did to earn a millennium-old witch’s favor?”

“He’s barely nine-hundred, and do I need to know why my territory is suddenly so interesting to angels?”

Ivan glanced up from the folder. “Two beings more than twice as old as the country they reside in being neighbors isn’t enough to warrant our interest?”

Sitting back in his chair, Alfred crossed his arms. “As flattered as I’d be to warrant such close interest, I know for a fact—and no, I’m not telling you how I know—that any and all information gathered on me was destroyed by Archangel Roderich himself. I’m as off-the-grid as any damned or grey could ever hope to be. And if this Francis was already ‘clean’ for a decade, then you have no reason to be watching him yourself, oh Great Angel General.”

“I’m not a general,” Ivan deadpanned as one of his ears twitched in irritation.

“Close enough. You’re leading a squadron of angels, last I heard. But we’ve strayed off-topic. Has Francis worked with anyone besides Sigurd?”

Ivan glared at Alfred for a while, purple eyes glowing as his pupils turned cat-like. Angels could look just as demonic as those they sought to stomp back into Hell, from what Alfred had seen.

When he saw that Alfred wasn’t going to be forthcoming with more information, Ivan looked back down at his folder and turned a page over.

“Not from what we’ve been able to uncover. There aren’t very many damned or greys in your area besides you, your ‘family,’ Francis, and Sigurd. Just some lower form fae, but none that have piqued our interest. And they rarely stay in your side of reality for very long.”

Only during sunrise, sunset, noon, and midnight—in-between times.

“They don’t want to cross the big, bad, vampire,” Alfred joked, hands going behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Mm-hmm.” Ivan closed his folder and tossed it to the side. “If that is all…?”

Alfred nodded. “Thanks. Your favor’s been paid.”

“Good.” Ivan exhaled sharply, but he didn’t end the call.

“Is there something else?” Alfred sat up straight as his brow furrowed.

Breaking eye-contact for a moment, Ivan rolled his lips inward as he deliberated whether to share this information. Before Alfred could tell him to get on with it, he met his gaze again with a pained look.

“We found recent evidence of him being alive,” Ivan said quickly. His jaw set. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether or not he was remorseful for sharing this information.

Alfred didn’t need to be told who ‘him’ was. Frozen in place, he stared at Ivan.

He felt his lips move but didn’t register it was him speaking until he heard his voice ask, “How recent?”

“Eight weeks. I can’t tell you where we found—”

“Like hell you can’t!” Alfred exploded, fangs extended.

His palms had split the wood on the vanity’s surface when he’d stood, hunched over and glaring at Ivan. His eyes were completely black, and Alfred could feel his cheeks and temples burn as black marks branched off his eyes. His hands started to burn as well, his fingertips turning black; the color slowly moved upwards, like ink spilling over his skin.

“Calm down,” Ivan warned, flashing his own fangs as his eyes glowed again. “You’re not the only one who can mine information, and I know you are not due to kill again for another year at least, and I will transport myself there and take you down myself if I must.”

Seeing that Ivan wasn’t going to answer him until he calmed down, Alfred tried to focus on counting, then the sound of Astrophe breathing downstairs. Then, he thought of Tadas, thought of how he’d react if he saw him like this. Arms shaking and eyes burning as blood streaked down his cheeks as tears, Alfred felt the Darkness recede and his eyes revert to normal. He set his chair back upright and sat down again, and Ivan nodded but said nothing about the tears.

“My squadron wasn’t part of the mission where the discovery took place,” he explained. “And I don’t have the clout to find out more. I only know this much thanks to a rumor being passed along before the Seraphim ordered their report be given classification above my pay-grade. I don’t even know  _ who _ made the discovery, let alone where. All I was told was to keep an eye on this region—‘this region’ stretching from northern California to southern Yukon and including Idaho and parts of Alberta, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, Colorado, and Nevada. Not exactly a small area, if he’s here at all.”

Nodding once, Alfred asked, “Do I owe you now for this information?”

A corner of Ivan’s wide mouth twitched. “I’ve given it by free will, but I’m not surprised a damned wouldn’t understand what that means.”

“I’d rather owe a favor.”

“Fine then.” But Ivan ended the call without discussing the matter further.

It had sounded like sarcasm. Whatever. Ivan had ways of contacting Alfred if he decided he did wish to call in that favor.

Pushing himself away from the vanity, Alfred wiped his jaw and neck to stop his tears from dripping into his shirt.

“Might as well get cleaned up and get dressed,” Alfred said as he left the guest room—Gilbert’s room, before he moved in with Romano.

It was barely three in the afternoon, so after a quick shower, Alfred filled the claw-foot tub. He wanted to enjoy feeling warmth while he could. He also needed to mask his scent; not doing so for this long must have been what allowed a lilum to track him so easily.

The oil infusion was kept in a cabinet under the sink and would need to be replaced soon; when Alfred unscrewed the top, he could smell that the plants would mold within the next few weeks. The lotus and elderflower overwhelmed the other scents, but when Alfred breathed deeply, he could pick up the hint of dragon’s blood and frankincense.

He’d text Mei later that he needed more.

The podcast  _ Alice Isn’t Dead _ played from his phone as he soaked in the water. As the narrator, Keisha, described a memory of when she and Alice had visited Bosnia and Croatia. Her descriptions of the old buildings that had been left in shambles after war became muted as Alfred sank further into the water, legs bending so his knees stuck up. He vaguely felt cold wrap around the skin of his exposed skin, and the heat of the water was fading.

_ I know you are not due to kill again for another year at least. _

_ Would you come after me if I decided I’d rather get my heart racing a little sooner than planned? _ Alfred thought, thinking of being able to feel Tadas’s hands in his, his lips on his, him being inside him…

Until they were replaced by images of Tadas pulling his hands away, finding blood crusted in the lines of Alfred’s palms, Tadas jerking away when his tongue ran over Alfred’s fangs, Tadas insisting on pulling off Alfred’s mirrored sunglasses and finding that his blue eyes had turned blood red.

Banging on the door downstairs yanked Alfred out of his thoughts. He shot up, nearly slipping as he grasped the edges of the tub and balanced on them as he swung his legs over to land on the plush towel he’d left on the floor.

The banging continued, and Astrophe sounded as though he were scratching grooves into the wood as he sprinted up the stairs and down the hall to Alfred’s room. He’d made sure to leave his coffin open, knowing the cat liked to huddle in there when frightened, and everything but Alfred and his friends seemed to scare the poor guy—he’d even run away from a moth that had gotten into the house.

“Oh, calm down,” Alfred grumbled, grabbing the Gryffindor bathrobe Gilbert had gotten him for Christmas that he left hanging on the bathroom door.

Once the podcast was paused, Alfred tossed the robe’s hood over his head and rubbed at his hair to squeeze out some of the moisture as he caught the scent of roses, honey, and musk. He called out that he was on his way down and tied the robe closed.

The door swung open with barely a touch; Alfred’s nails dug into the wood when he caught it, just before the handle could put a dent in the wall.

“How considerate.” Alfred smiled, allowing his fangs to extend. “I was about to come visit you, but you saved me the trip.” He took a step aside, motioning towards the den. “It’s the least I can do to invite you inside for the night. After you, Mister…”

Instead of answering, Francis knocked his shoulder into Alfred’s as he walked past, though the action made Francis flinch in pain. Lilum thought they were above all other damned. They had psychic abilities they used to feed, they could use shadows to teleport up to a mile away, and they could even transform into a human’s shadow, becoming part of them and slowly warping them in order to feed off of a single person long-term.

But vampires were immune to their psychic abilities; their targets needed auras for lilum to peek into their minds or ride their shadows.

This had to have riled Francis up, and Alfred continued to grin as he shut the door and brought the armchair around the coffee table, so he could sit opposite of Francis. Before lowering himself into the chair, though, Alfred cocked his head slightly, hands going to the pockets of his robe.

“Anything to drink?” he asked, as though welcoming a friend he hadn’t seen in years. “I keep coffee and tea for guests, or I think there’s still beer in the fridge.”

Francis made a face at the mention of beer but didn’t respond right away. The way his sky-blue eyes were slowly shifting to purple-pink, he seemed anxious to get down to business, but instead, he leaned back and pulled one leg up so his ankle rested on his knee.

“The coffee isn’t flavored, is it?” he asked, pulling his long, honey-blond hair over one shoulder before propping an arm up to lean his jaw on his hand.

“It’s a Turkish blend. I don’t have a maker, though, so I’ll need to boil water for the press.”

“If it’s not too much trouble.” Francis’s eyes reverted to blue, and he offered a small smile.

Heading towards the kitchen, Alfred assured, “Not at all! I offered, right? Anyway, since we’re gonna be sitting here a while, mind telling me your name?”

“Francis,” he said after a moment. “Francis Bonnefoy. But please, tell me about yourself. I’d like to know more about the man who swept my partner off his feet right under my nose.”

Laughing, Alfred filled the electric kettle and took the coffee press out of the small drying rack behind the sink.

“Not a whole lot to tell.” Alfred hummed and tried not to growl when he heard Astrophe hiss. For both Francis’s and Alistair’s sake, Astrophe better not have a hair on his head harmed. “I’m a vampire, as you know, so I’ll get that out of the way.”

He got a blood bag to drink from while he waited for the water to boil and opened the freezer drawer to fish out the tin of ground coffee. He’d need to grind more beans soon; Ludwig had helped himself to two carafes this morning and had taken a third to go, saying Alfred owed him for worrying him like he did.

“I’ve been living here for about three years now. Moved from by the east coast and considered Forks for a hot second, not gonna lie.” Alfred laughed again and took a sip of blood, wrinkling his nose. Cold blood would keep him from starving, but it didn’t taste the same as taking it from the vein. “Oh, my name’s Alfred by the way. Alfred Schmidt. Decided to move to continue my education, but after ten years… eh, you know how it is, I’m sure.”

The electric kettle switched itself off, and Alfred poured ground coffee beans and water into the press. The smell was strong, but it made Alfred smile. Always, it reminded him of the many days of falling asleep to the scent, Ludwig making coffee to bring with him to class or work.

The last thing he’d hear before closing his coffin was Gilbert shouting after Ludwig to wish him a good day.

“I’ve lived east of the Mississippi long enough, I figured, and decided to move to the other end of the country. It’s been pretty empty, actually. I started to think I wasn’t going to meet any other supernaturals.” Alfred described some of the vampires, fae, and witches he’d come across while living in various cities along the northern east coast, using enough descriptors to make it sound like he was openly spilling information but not enough specifics to actually give away who any of them were.

Throughout, Francis never interjected, only occasionally giving an  _ uh-huh _ or  _ hmm _ . He was obviously still teleporting around the house, only returning to the den occasionally, to avoid being caught having left the couch.

When Alfred returned with Francis’s coffee, in a  _ Saving People, Hunting Things _ mug he kept for Gilbert, the lilum looked as though he hadn’t moved. He eyed the mug, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards as he sat up to take the cup from Alfred as he sat down.

“And I guess you know I’m lilum, or incubus as you might have heard from most sources,” Francis drawled, his condensation thinly veiled. “Have you met one before?”

“Sure!” Alfred chirped after sipping from his blood bag. “She was a succubus, though, I guess. It was years ago, though, and I guess she liked being left alone.”

He couldn’t tell if Francis really thought Alfred was young and didn’t know their world very well, or if Francis was testing the waters with assumptions. He could also be playing dumb as Alfred was. He didn’t keep anything in the house that would give away his actual age, and he knew Francis wouldn’t ask. It was an unspoken rule not to.

Before Francis could reply, Alfred asked, “So are yinz born like you are, or is it kind of like with vampires?”

Francis gave a strained smile before taking a long sip of his coffee. “You mentioned not having met any other… supernaturals.” He glanced down at the mug again when he said it. “But what about that darling son of yours? I seem to recall seeing him at my club with some friends last night.”

Well, that gave away which club he worked at, then. There were three gay clubs in the city, but Ludwig went to Atlas, since his friend Hedvika worked there as a bartender and hooked him up with discounted drinks. Mathias also started doing drag there, and Ludwig, Theo, and Mei attended the nights he was performing to show support.

“Kinda hard to have a son with my… condition.” Alfred let his smile grow to show his fangs, which made Francis respond with a smug look.

Taking another long sip, likely to let the vampire simmer in his growing anger—and fear, Francis likely hoped for. Thankfully, since the oil dampened Alfred’s scent, the lilum couldn’t use that to figure out Alfred’s emotions. Him being so calm in front of this millennia-old lilum would bring up suspicion and questions Alfred would rather not deal with just yet.

“Of course,” Francis finally said when Alfred started tapping his foot. “Though adoption would make him as much your son. Dhampir women so rarely live past childbirth, and you seem like a bleeding heart, pardon the pun.”

“I guess you could put it that way.”

“Though I’m guessing the boy has grown bored sharing a home with his father when the two of you pass for brothers.”

Instead of responding, Alfred merely sipped from his blood bag and focused on memories of raising Ludwig. Moving to London from a village south of Kiel with him and Gilbert. Using a slate and chalk to teach him how to write. Reading passages from the Bible to him each night as per Gilbert’s request. Getting him a set of watercolor paint he’d travelled to Florence to get when he saw Ludwig’s aptitude and budding passion for art. Tossing him into a lake to teach him how to swim only for Gilbert to dive in after him when Ludwig didn’t immediately surface.

Alfred had remained still and allowed Gilbert to pummel him in anger after saving his son. Their son, they’d called him sometimes, though no romance had bloomed between the vampire and ex-Hunter, despite them making an attempt after moving to New York.

Alfred did his best to remain calm. He couldn’t have his eyes change in front of Francis. He couldn’t have him think him as any different from a typical Bitten vampire.

“He’d made friends at college,” Alfred said evenly, still managing to smile. “I wasn’t about to stand between him and them while we live here. No need to keep him locked away in darkness.”

Francis smiled, eyes turning purple-pink again as he set the mug onto the coffee table and stood. “Especially when he seems to be such a help at St. John’s. It really would be a shame if something were to happen to him. The ripples that big would definitely be felt.”

Alfred’s thoughts switched to imagining Francis’s body slowly burning up in sunlight as he slowly slid down a ten-foot spike shoved up his ass and ripping out the tongue Francis thought to be gilded in silver.

“Yes. A real shame.”

His voice sounded more like an echo, and Francis gave another smug smile as he headed towards the door.

“Thank you for the coffee, Mr. Jones,” he said. “I hate to cut this short, but I must be on my way to work.”

“Of course,” Alfred chirped, hopping up and heading to the foyer. “I hope to see you again. I didn’t plan for how bored I’d get out here.”

“Maybe join your son sometime, then. I know I would like to introduce myself to him. He has a good taste in drinks,” Francis said and allowed Alfred to open the door for him. “I hope you have a good night.”

Alfred lifted his blood bag as though toasting. “And I hope you have an eventful one.”


	5. A Little Talk

Alfred froze when he reached the stairs. He hadn’t heard Mikhael come into the house or smelled him. The latter made sense, though; Mei made him the same scent-masking oil she made for Alfred.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to saunter down the stairs as though he hadn’t been caught off-guard.

The Sápmi-born man smirked, however, as he drank one of Gilbert’s leftover beers and lounged in the easy chair, which had been moved back to the small parlor adjacent to the den. Bay windows facing the front garden, where Ludwig and Mikhael had grown tea roses, catnip, daffodils, and mint. Nothing was growing right now; the snow Twinkle City had offered, to prove it could, had melted only days ago.

Mikhael’s eyes were drawn to the windows, however, as though he could see the blooms. He probably could. He never went into detail about his abilities, lying that it was because he didn’t want to make Ludwig jealous. Dhampirs with psychic abilities were nearly as rare as humans with them, and if Mikhael’s visions didn’t also come with the ability to share them with others through touch, Alfred wouldn’t believe him.

“Good evening to you, too.” Mikhael brushed his long, ash blond bangs back from his face and took another swig of beer. “You’re dressed nice, by the way. Has Tadas decided to give you another chance?” He turned his periwinkle eyes back towards Alfred, lips curved into his usually sweet smile.

Saying nothing, Alfred went to the bay window and sank into the cushion. The pillows still smelled of Gilbert’s soap and the tea he’d spilled over his time in this house, reading here on his days off. Alfred was sure if he opened the cabinet underneath, he’d find the YA paranormal romance Gilbert refused to admit he enjoyed.

Thinking of him threatening to stake Alfred after he told Romano that Gilbert had cried over Edward leaving Bella in  _ New Moon _ kept Alfred from thinking of Tadas, who still hadn’t called or texted him. It had only been a day since the rejection, and Alfred knew he needed to give him time and space, but he was growing impatient.

Symphony painted Mikhael’s expression, and he set his beer down onto the wood floor. “I’ll take that as a no.” He scooted a bit and patted the small space beside him, smiling when Alfred rolled his eyes. “I can tell when you’re touch-starved, Al.”

Biting his bottom lip, Alfred rolled his eyes again but got up. He flopped down and crossed his arms over his chest as though he were only doing this for Mikhael’s benefit. The smaller man wrapped his arms around Alfred and pulled him down so that he was more in his lap. Mikhael shifted enough to place his chin on Alfred’s shoulder, glancing up at him even as Alfred made a point of looking away, arms still crossed.

He knew he looked like a pouting child, but Mikhael just seemed to know what to say and which buttons to push in order to receive that reaction.

“Give him time.” Mikhael chuckled at Alfred’s scoff. “Yes, I suppose Gilbert and Feliciano already gave that very same advice, but you need to hear it again. And probably a third and fourth and fifth time. Maybe a sixth and seventh to get through your thick skull.”

Alfred tried to scoff again, but it turned into a laugh that he tried to cover up with a cough. He glanced out the window, a corner of his mouth twitching. It was barely past five; Ludwig wouldn’t be at the club for another three hours at least, but he couldn’t drop the itch to head over now.

Squeezing the vampire harder, Mikhael said, “Ludwig can take care of himself, and he’s at the hospital right now doing rounds.”

When Alfred didn’t answer, he continued:

“He isn’t that teenager anymore. He’s grown, mature. More than some much older than him.” He laughed at Alfred’s half-hearted growl. “And yes, this is a lilum. I don’t deny the danger, but he put up a fight against a nickar before you, Gilbert, and I arrived. He isn’t helpless. If he were, he would have died back then.”

“Unless you saw a reason why I shouldn’t rip that smug—”

“For someone so sensitive to his loved ones seeing him as scary, you really don’t want to do much to correct such a belief.”

Alfred flinched but remained quiet.

“The lilum will not strike once he learns there are angels keeping watch over the area.”

“And how would he know—?” Alfred stopped and stared out the window. “What makes you think he would believe me? Anyone could lie that angels were nearby, and Ivan isn’t exactly going to lend me help in scaring a lilum who hasn’t killed a human in ten years.”

Mikhael hummed a song Alfred didn’t know. “You know how long he hasn’t killed?”

Alfred blinked. “You think it’ll be enough to make him back off?”

“For now, and he only needs enough time to cool off.”

“Beings that old don’t ‘cool off’ easily.”

“No, but they’re more willing to step back and reassess. That’s all you need.” Mikhael let go of Alfred and waited for him to meet his soft gaze. “Would you like to join me and Eduard after you speak with this lilum?”

He chuckled at Alfred’s expression.

Brushing his bangs back again, Mikhael said, “You won’t be a third wheel. A few of his friends and his other roommate are joining us. A few of them you know. Kateryna, I think, and her girlfriend.” He lifted Alfred, making him squeak in surprise, and after getting up, he set Alfred back down onto the chair. “We’ll be at Little Blue Flower on Davis.”

He bent to grab his beer. “I hope we’ll see you there. I don’t get out enough nowadays. It’d be nice to spend more time with you again.”

He left, and Alfred frowned, chin resting on his fist. Of course, Mikhael would go there.

And of course, Alfred was falling for it.

“Fine,” Alfred finally relented after the door shut, but he knew Mikhael had heard him.

He remained in the chair, staring at his translucent reflection in the window. He thought over what Mikhael had said and decided that he was right and couldn’t risk a fight with a lilum. Not right away. It would bring about too much attention, and if Alfred was forced to leave, Ludwig would feel the need to follow, especially if he learned Francis had planned to attack him. Even if it was Alfred who had insisted on the fight, Ludwig would still feel some responsibility. It was who he was. And if he followed, Gilbert would feel the need to follow as well.

When he’d fallen in love for the first time in years. Gilbert had even brought up the possibility of telling Romano the truth, something he’d never even considered with his past partners.

Alfred shifted to bring his phone out of his back pocket and texted Ludwig:  _ Hey, the lilum came by earlier. He works at the club you go to with your friends and might target you. Name’s Francis. Long blond hair, blue eyes, smug as hell. Told me he hopes nothing ends up in one of your drinks, so have Mei check em. Mik suggested it might be bluster. About to head over and persuade him to back off. _

Ludwig’s reply came only seconds after Alfred hit send:  _ Do NOT lose control. _

Huffing, Alfred sent back,  _ I’m going to TALK to him. GOD. _

Ludwig’s response took several minutes, telling Alfred he’d gotten busy.  _ If the club isn’t covered with police tape when I get there and I don’t see any angels popping in within the next month, I’ll believe you. _

_ Oh ye of little faith _ , Alfred sent back, frowning before he stuck the phone into his back pocket.

When did Ludwig start thinking Alfred solved everything with violence? Sure, he’d been losing his temper more lately, and he’d let the Darkness creep up on him when first telling Ludwig about the lilum this morning, but was it so hard to believe that he could be civil?

Whatever.

The club, also a pub of sorts on one side, was open, and music played. It was easy listening from someone’s phone or iPod in the dancing area, which was through a beaded curtain hanging to the left. A few regulars were in groups, a large one sitting at a table with poutine, hot wings, and drinks and snack food as they played what sounded like King Mao.

“Have a nice day ya filthy animal!” one of the players exclaimed while slamming down a card, as Alfred zeroed in on Francis.

He was pouring ice water into a martini glass to keep it cold and hadn’t acknowledged the vampire’s presence. He nodded when Hedvika said something to him, the shorter woman moving away with a tray of beers and smiling at the sight of Alfred.

“Here early!” she called, and he stopped, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Hedvika wore a coat that wouldn’t look out of place in the “Welcome to the Black Parade” music video, matched with an asymmetrical black skirt and fishnets that tucked into ankle boots with two-inch heels. Even with them on, though, she still barely reached Alfred’s shoulder.

“Just wanted to chat with a new friend before heading to Little Blue Flower to meet some friends,” Alfred said, nodding towards Francis.

Glancing back at the bartender, Hedvika hummed. “Just be careful, ‘kay?”

She was serious if she wasn’t teasingly scolding Alfred for going to a competitor.

Tilting his head, Alfred asked, “What d’you mean?”

“Dunno…” Hedvika frowned, then sighed. “Mei said he gave her a bad feeling, and just… I know you don’t believe in ‘woo-woo shit,’ but Mei’s usually right about those things.”

Inhaling deeply, Alfred made a show of looking away and shrugging. “Please. Like he could take me.”

He grinned when Hedvika huffed.

“Watch that ego, Cancer-sun, Aries-moon.” Her cheeks puffed at Alfred’s groan. “Seriously, you’re not invincible, and Francis could charm a rock, so even that thing you call a brain”—she pointed at his fly—“isn’t safe.”

“Hey—!”

Some of the patrons at the card table called Hedvika over, and she sashayed away from Alfred, calling over that she was coming and for the customers to keep their wigs on.

Francis set the finished drink onto the bar when Alfred approached and folded his arms over the surface. The drink was neon green and was garnished with two slices of jalapeno.

“As you drank warm blood recently,” said Francis, “I hope you’re still able to partake. It’s my first time making a ‘green intensity.’ Cocktails like this seem to be popular here.”

“Bright colors catch attention and make for a good prop to hold up for Insta.” Alfred picked up one of the jalapeno slices and dropped it on his tongue. He chewed slowly, judging how his body reacted to the juice before consuming the other. “Should I worry about any extra ingredients?”

Swallowing gold shavings or dead man’s blood wouldn’t kill him, but it’d hurt like a bitch.

“It’d be a waste of my supply.” Francis shrugged and sipped what smelled like Benedictine.

“Heracles is fine with that?”

“He’s not here for the night.” Francis shrugged. “Left Hedvika in charge until Sadako arrives for their shift, and Hedvika doesn’t mind, so long as I only have one drink and if it’s before the rush.”

“Hmm.” Alfred took a sip of the green cocktail. It tasted like ash mixed with vodka and lime, with a hint of basil. He had a day at best before his stomach would expel anything other than blood. “Now, do you mind a question about your history?”

“I have a feeling you will ask whatever my response, but I must admit I’m flattered at your curiosity.”

Alfred took another long sip, waiting for Hedvika to leave again and check on something backstage.

“My intel wasn’t the clearest.” Alfred smiled as Francis raised his eyebrows while sipping his drink. “Were you living in Southern Gaul when the Visigoths were expelled, or do you think I was just told that to give me an idea of how old you are?” His smile had grown when Francis choked but coughed and managed to compose himself. “He could’ve just told me you were old as dirt.”

Ignoring the last sentence, Francis set down his glass and didn’t meet Alfred’s eyes right away. “I was living near the Pyrenees during that time. Fought in a resistance against the Muslim invaders.”

He paused, eyes shining as his mind worked. Few beings would have been able to know that about him, but doubt clouded his expression.

Alfred finished the rest of his drink in a gulp and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Damn. And I thought my life leading up to my ‘rebirth’ was exciting.” He grinned to show his extended fangs. “So, was meeting Alistair the catalyst for you to give up killing humans for… what was it? Ten years?” He swallowed back a laugh at the shocked look on Francis’s face that he barely managed to cover up with feigned indifference. “Gotta admire that self-discipline. Haven’t quite gotten that chip just yet myself, but I promised my… ‘friend’… that’d I’d try my damnedest, excuse the expression.”

The glass cracked in Francis’s grip, and he let go abruptly to avoid shattering it as he levelled Alfred with an even gaze. “Alistair told me to find him again when I hadn’t killed a single person in ten years, yes.” His voice was low to avoid having it shake, and his pupils became cat-like. “So, you see… he means a lot to me.”

“And Ludwig means a lot to me,” Alfred said in an equally low voice as he leaned forward. “Enough to lend myself to some very expensive debts, if I must. But I’m willing to give you and any humans special to you a wide berth if you offer me the same grace.”

Francis didn’t answer right away, eyes searching Alfred’s face. Unlike other damned, vampires could tell direct lies. Being without souls (or possessing a dormant soul, in Alfred’s case) offered more freedom in this regard, but his centuries of life must have allowed Francis skills in determining when he was confronted with a liar.

“We are agreed,” Francis said finally. “So long as you keep your fangs out of Alistair, and I will bring no harm to Ludwig.”

“Deal.” Alfred stuck out a hand, which Francis took reluctantly, eyes darkening. “Glad we could have this talk.” He stepped away and waved, raising his voice and retracting his fangs. “Nice talking to you again! I’ll let’cha get back to work. Say ‘hi’ to Sadako for me!”

Francis said nothing as Alfred left Atlas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I guess that's settled, eh? Francis wouldn't /dare/ risk the wrath of a vampire with angel connections by weaseling out of a deal, right?


	6. Corruption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahmadou=Cameroon

Shaking, Tadas kept going back and forth between coughing and wheezing as hands kept him upright. Someone swore, as what little was left in Tadas’s stomach came up and dripped down his chin, and he felt a warm, damp cloth pat along his mouth, jaw, and neck, and another voice said the same thing over and over, though Tadas couldn’t understand it as his consciousness slipped again and his head hit a pillow.

When Tadas awoke again, a straw was being pushed into his mouth.

“Stop grinding your teeth,” said an annoyed voice. “You’re going to end up with lockjaw.”

_ I’ll heal _ , Tadas tried to say, but his throat was too sore.

He parted his teeth and struggled to suck, feeling warmth but unable to place the taste. He couldn’t open his eyes, so he focused only on drinking. He had to remind himself to breathe and swallow, liquid dribbling over his lip several times as a damp cloth patted there to keep him clean.

When he finally heard only air dragging through the straw, Tadas yawned. He was unconscious again before his mouth even closed.

His stomach growling was what woke him up the third time, and he tried to push himself up, arms shaking before he collapsed back, unable to even rise an inch off the bed. He was lying on his stomach, wings drooping over either side of him. A straw was once again pressed in-between his lips, and Tadas unclenched his teeth without prompting.

“You need to rest more,” said the same annoyed voice from earlier.

Swallowing the warm liquid, Tadas cracked his eyes open, but the brightness of the room immediately made his eyes water, and he had to squeeze them shut again.

“Put a mask over his eyes,” the voice ordered, and there was a  _ hmph  _ before something silky was slid over Tadas’s eyes, a thin elastic band behind his head keeping it in place. “Once you finish the soup, I’ll give you more tea for sleep. You’re not strong enough to eat anything solid just yet.”

_ Carlos _ . Tadas tried to jokingly thank him for not blowing smoke into his face but didn’t have the strength to do anything but drink what he now realized was tomato soup. If Carlos was here, the other person was Ahmadou.

They were guardian angels, and Ahmadou had been a warrior before nearly being killed by a horde of demons that had managed to kill the rest of his team. Ahmadou had barely survived and still wore an X-shaped scar on the side of his head, and his magic had been irreversibly warped, making him cough out orchid petals when his emotions ran hot. He also had three lion-like tails instead of one and had grown six wings like the Principalities and Seraphim, though Ahmadou’s wings were gold as solidified sunlight, rather than black or silver.

He’d been a knowledgeable weapons instructor and had won over the students’ respect since he first stepped foot in the Academy. Tadas felt small with his presence in the room, his heart humming within his chest.

“I am disappointed.”

Tadas bit down suddenly on the straw at the sound of Ahmadou’s voice. He flinched, finding that the straw was metal.

“What little I know of the mission Ivan is leading, I would assume his scouts would remember to keep their minds well-guarded,” Ahmadou said, and Tadas felt heat bloom across his face.

Carlos laughed and patted Tadas between where his wings met flesh. “Starstruck, eh? Don’t blame you. Thought I was going to die when I was first assigned to be his new partner. The shine wears down after a while. Now keep drinking.”

After a moment, Tadas resumed drinking the soup, and Carlos said to Ahmadou, “Give the boy a break. He died barely three days ago.”

Again, Tadas bit down on the straw and winced, nose scrunching at the sound of Carlos sighing.

“Sorry for the shocking news,” he murmured, growling a warning when Ahmadou muttered something Tadas didn’t catch. “Thankfully, your ring had enough mana to send a signal to Ivan when your heart stopped beating. Archangel Roderich sent me to get you while Ahmadou checked out the Soul Spring. We’ll tell you more when you got more strength back.”

Tadas made a sound he thought sounded like agreement, and the soup was gone. It was soon replaced with tea, and Tadas was asleep before even finishing it.

The next three days were of Tadas waking up twice each day and only long enough to drink soup and tea. Once he could finally open his eyes, he didn’t care about anything else, didn’t even feel embarrassed about having to be turned over so the catheter could be removed. He only felt thanks when Carlos and Ahmadou helped him up and helped him take steps.

When he could only make four steps before crumpling, though, Tadas felt his earlier hope crumple as well.

“Easy, now,” Carlos said gently, and he and Ahmadou returned Tadas to the bed. “You’ve been sleeping for the better part of a week. Not to mention the whole ‘You were dead’ thing. We expected this.”

Ahmadou grunted assent, and Tadas gave a nod.

After a straight week of stretches, walking, and trips to a nearby glamoured field to stretch his wings and practice flying with Ahmadou, Tadas felt well. Not himself, not strong, but well. It would be another week or so before he could return to Twinkle City, however, so his roommates had been contacted by Ona, who’d posed as his sister to let them know Tadas was away due to a sudden family emergency and wasn’t sure when he’d be able to return.

Tadas’s phone was back in his room, and he’d thrown away the burner phone he’d used to contact Sigurd in Seattle. He didn’t want to check his phone right now, anyway. He could only imagine the worried messages Eduard and Krisjanis might have left. Or seeing if Alfred had tried getting into contact with him.

He wasn’t sure which would feel worse: Seeing his name in his recent calls or not seeing his name.

He knew Alfred was bound to find out about the “family emergency.” He and Eduard had become friends, and Eduard had a hard time keeping his mouth shut, especially when nervous or worried.

“You are doing good,” Ahmadou said as Tadas set the square table, which sat in the small space between the kitchen and den area.

The cabin wasn’t large, but it was away from human towns and was enchanted to pixy lead away any humans who might wander this way.

Tadas smiled, bringing a glass of wine for Ahmadou, an open beer bottle for Carlos, and a water for himself. Much as he craved mead or Starka, he needed to abstain from alcohol for another few weeks at least.

“Thank you,” he said to Ahmadou as he sat down across from him. “You and Carlos have been good teachers, almost reminding me of the Academy.”

Ahmadou let out a rare chuckle and nodded. He didn’t give out compliments lightly, so Tadas felt better about the slowness of his recovery. Angels typically healed so quickly that wounds closed before any blood could spill, so long as they had healthy levels of mana. Death was no small thing to come back from, however, even for the blessed.

“Can you tell me more about the Soul Spring now?” Tadas asked as Carlos came over with two plates of seasoned chicken, black beans, quinoa, and fried bananas.

Carlos’s dreads were longer than Tadas remembered since he last saw him, halfway down his back now. An angel with a seal aspect, he looked the most human and would until he was submerged in water. The only thing that gave away he was something else were the two, long, antenna-like things that grew out of his temples and over his head, stretching down his back until they nearly reached the ground. Why the angels who aspected with sea animals had them were unknown; Carlos and Ona (a porpoise aspect) joked it was to connect them straight to the Seraphim.

Carlos set them down in front of Tadas and Ahmadou and then went to get his own.

Carefully cutting into his chicken as one of his lion-like ears twitched, Ahmadou started to explain: “As you were replenishing your mana, the Soul Spring was corrupted. I smelled angel blood and brimstone.”

“A warlock?” Tadas asked, stabbing a banana slice with his fork as he tried to think if he had sensed a damned one’s presence.

He couldn’t remember, though. He’d been too focused on reaching the Soul Spring before he collapsed from exhaustion. To think he could have come face-to-face with a warlock while at such a weak point… Tadas shivered at the thought, and Ahmadou nodded.

“Allow it to be a teaching experience,” he said, and Tadas’s head hung as he nodded again, feeling chastised. “You may be a scout, but you must keep yourself in shape enough to fight as a warrior at a moment’s notice.”

“And we doubt you would have noticed him anyway,” Carlos said after a long swig of beer. “Even Ahmadou might not have. Hell, Ivan or even Archangel Roderich might have struggled.”

“You think…” Tadas nearly dropped his fork but then gripped it tight. “It’s him. You think I may have been compromised.”

“If we did, we would have had Ona tell your roommates you needed to leave, and we would have sent money to cover your part of rent until the end of the lease.” Carlos shrugged, staring at his plate and moving the food around with his fork. “This wasn’t the first Soul Spring to be corrupted. It was the third, actually. The first was in Svalbard. The second was in Ljósártungur. They’re being cleansed now, and no one else had been hurt, so we don’t think that was the warlock’s motive.”

“After even a few years following a warlock’s ‘second birth,’” said Tadas after swallowing a bite of fried banana, “their motives are hard to pin down. They seek havoc, not goals.”

“This one may be different,” Ahmadou warned. “He is old. Much older than most warlocks can survive before their own magic consumes them from the inside-out.”

“Well, he hadn’t been just any angel that Fell,” Carlos groused. “He’d been an  _ Archangel _ .”

“I’d assumed that to be only a rumor,” said Tadas, green eyes wide.

“It is,” Ahmadou pressed, amber eyes narrowed at Carlos, who shrugged. One of Ahmadou’s ears flicked again, and he sighed before facing Tadas again. “Regardless of his motives, a Soul Spring had only been corrupted once before, and the witch who did it died in the process. And this warlock corrupts three, moving west. It’s a message, I would wager, and it’s possible the locations hold significance, but I’m not of a station to read those files.”

“Do you think he’s still in Utah?” Tadas asked, still not liking the coincidence of his presence and the warlock’s. “I could join Margarethe here—”

Ahmadou shook his head, his uppermost pair of wings shivering behind him. It was a slight motion but made Tadas swallow a lump in his throat. It wasn’t until Carlos prodded him that he continued eating.

After eating a few bites of his meal and taking a long sip of wine, Ahmadou spoke again:

“Archangel Roderich now agrees with Ivan’s prediction. This warlock is on his way to Washington to be with the vampire he created all those centuries ago. The one Natalya alerted to us that you’ve been… having relations with.”

Carlos choked on his food and had to get up with a napkin clapped over his mouth as he coughed. Tadas’s face was on fire as he gripped his fork until his knuckles turned white, his fingers already starting to cramp.

“I...”

“Thought he was human at first, I assume,” Ahmadou said nonchalantly. He took another bite of chicken and black beans. “Based on what I know of him, he’s not like other vampires. He can drain a human, even past the human’s heart stopping, and absorbing their lifeforce. This temporarily gives him an aura and beating heart, though I’m unsure as to for how long, and if he’s required by biology to kill, or if he chooses to in order to feel alive again.”

Hollowly, Tadas nodded once, staring at his plate. Not only was Alfred a vampire, he was  _ that  _ vampire. The one that had been whispered about in the Academy. The one who, on official notices stamped by Archangel Roderich, did not exist.

And Tadas had been too blinded with infatuation to notice.

How could he call himself a scout?

“Your defenses are weakening,” Ahmadou warned, and Tadas slammed his mental walls back into place before his former professor could glimpse his failures. “Also, your established relationship with this vampire could prove useful for your mission.”

Carlos returned, slamming a hand onto the table hard enough on the table to rock Ahmadou’s wine glass. “What?! You can’t be serious. You just said he  _ kills  _ people!”

Ahmadou shrugged, though a twitch of his wide mouth gave away his displeasure of what he was about to say. “Not enough of them to warrant our interference, if Archangel Roderich has never issued orders to take care of him.” His eyes met Tadas’s widened ones. “We do not know if the vampire still feels any allegiance towards his creator. Even if not, he’s potentially dangerous and needs to be watched closely.”

“With minimal fucking,” Carlos growled as he watched Tadas with narrowed eyes.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Tadas grumbled, stabbing some chicken with his fork. “And fine, I’ll contact him when I’m back in Twinkle City.”

The Archangels and Principalities preached that their Creator would regularly test them. This, however, felt more like a cruel joke. Tadas almost wished he’d remained unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carlos's design was partially taken from Retasu in Tokyo Mew Mew.


	7. The Darkness

Alfred was going to rip Gilbert limb from limb. Mikhael was next, and then he would skin Ignatius alive as Ludwig watched.

“You can come out when you’ve calmed down,” said the ex-Hunter, voice staticky through the walkie-talkie by Alfred’s head.

Hissing, Alfred slashed at the top of the top of the yew wood coffin, nails chipped or torn away from his skin. His fingertips, knuckles, and the balls of his feet were burnt from the wood’s magic, but Alfred barely felt the pain as he continued to punch and claw and kick. He swore and called out every name he could think of in every language he knew, even though he knew none of them could hear him.

The walkie-talkie squealed, and it sounded like two people were arguing, and Alfred stopped in his attempts to claw his way out of the coffin and grave. His hand brushed over the stake carved from oak wood he’d yanked out of his chest minutes ago, and Alfred got pissed all over again.

“Alfred,” Ludwig scolded. “Listen to me.”

Through the walkie, there was a faint sound of Mikhael telling Gilbert to let Ludwig handle it. If Ignatius was still there, he wasn’t speaking, for which Alfred was grateful. Seeing those green eyes shadowed by a nearly Neanderthal-like browline had slammed Alfred back in time, and like hell he was ever going to that place ever again.

If asked yesterday, he would have sworn that the witch had been burned to ashes and was being tortured in Hell, but Alfred was more than happy to put him there himself.

Growling, Alfred shot back, “Listen?!” The walkie had been embedded where he could hear but couldn’t reach it to talk back, but he continued. “Your boyfriend is the goddamn witch that cut me open and fucking hollowed out my goddamn torso to figure out how I tick, and you want me to FUCKING LISTEN?!”

“… penance and is a different person,” Ludwig was saying.

“Penance,” Alfred spat.

He growled and punched the top of the coffin with what strength he had left. There was a hollow crack, and some dirt shifted and sprinkled over Alfred’s face and hair. He growled again and took deep breaths, staring at where he guessed the crack to be. His hands felt hot, and he could feel the Darkness flickering, struggling to spread as the yew wood sapped away dark energy as it built up within him.

Ludwig continued, “Arthur told me he was a witch a month after we started talking to each other. He regrets what he’s done, and he’s studying to become a doctor so he can help as many people as he can. He’s planning on volunteering for Doctors Without Borders after he’s worked as a general surgeon for a while, and I know I should have told you he was a witch earlier, but I had no way of knowing that you two—”

Alfred blocked him out and focused, keeping his eyes trained on where he’d punched before. The crack of wood was louder this time, and Alfred’s arm trembled as he pulled it back and got ready for another strike.

His whole body felt as though it was on fire, and he punched the top of the coffin three times in quick succession, eyes closed just in time for dirt to slam into his body like a weight. It cut off whatever Ludwig was saying into the walkie-talkie, and Alfred lay still for a while, feeling the coldness of dirt against his skin, hot from the Darkness. He could feel it flowing throughout his body now but didn’t bother to fight it, focusing only on wiggling his fingers until he was able to move enough to start clawing, moving, until he was sitting up, then standing, then what felt almost like floating as he neared the surface.

Mikhael’s voice was muffled by the foot of soil remaining in Alfred’s path, but it sounded like he was yelling at Gilbert to get Arthur— _ Ignatius _ , Alfred mentally snarled—to the car.

“Be ready, Ludwig,” Alfred heard Mikhael say, voice steely. “And just remember: That’s not Alfred right now. Don’t hold back. He won’t.”

Alfred’s left hand broke free of the soil, and he heard a gasp and swear.

“That coffin should have held him,” Ludwig whispered as Alfred clawed at the ground as he shook dirt from his hair and face. “Yew wood weakens vampires. I was scared it’d knock him out after too long.”

Mikhael’s glowing, scarlet eyes met Alfred’s full-black ones. There was a flash of metal, followed by white-hot pain as Alfred’s head rolled away.

“You’ve known all this time that Alfred is not an ordinary vampire,” said Mikhael in a monotone.

Unable to reply, Ludwig vomited, shaking as he stepped back several paces.

Mikhael leapt forward, dagger pulled back at his side and sword coming down in a wide arch Alfred’s body was barely able to roll away from. His head hissed, and his body scrabbled against the dirt and freed himself from the grave as a wooden stake buried itself into his heart through his back. The oak’s natural magic burned through the Blackness and made Alfred’s roar in pain, the sound muffled by thick moss and grass, but his body managed to dodge another one of Mikhael’s swings as it ran, picking up his head. Black tendrils rose from his neck and connected his head back, leaving only a thin black line to show where he’d been cut.

Alfred danced out of the way of Mikhael’s sword and yanked the wooden stake out of his chest. He chucked it to the side and ducked and rolled away from another swing. A second stake hit his shoulder, black veins branching off the wound as Alfred roared, his eyes finding Ludwig’s wide, yellow ones.

“Don’t waste your stakes!” Mikhael ordered. “He needs to be weakened more, first!” He took another swing as Alfred paused to yank the wooden stake out of him.

Alfred rolled away, hissing and then leaping forward to swipe at Mikhael’s head with his long, ebony claws. The blackness was up to his elbows now, and the vein-like marks arched over his cheeks and temples from his eyes. Mikhael spat out a line of swears as he barely got out of the way, ash blond hair singing where Alfred’s nails touched it.

“How are we supposed to do that?!” Ludwig sounded panicked, and a pang echoed in Alfred’s chest only for his fury to smother it seconds later as he danced around Mikhael. “The yew wood didn’t work! Fucking  _ beheading him _ didn’t work! The oak barely slowed him down, and the wound’s healed-over already!”

“It’s the dark magic!” Mikhael shouted back at Ludwig. “I don’t know what the warlock did to Alfred, but—”

He dodged another swipe of Alfred’s claws and thrusted the dagger forward. Its thin, gold- and silver-plated blade sliding between Alfred’s ribs before he yanked it out and danced back out of arm’s reach and Alfred howled in pain.

“Try now!” he ordered, and before Alfred even heard the low thunk of the crossbow firing, he rolled out of the way, and the stake sunk into the ground inches from Mikhael’s feet. “Fu— _ Ludwig _ !”

_ “Ludwig!” _ Alfred heard the name echo in his memory, in his voice. He heard himself sobbing.  _ “Wake up,  _ lille venn _. Please. Wake up.” _

Heat rolled down Alfred’s cheeks, but whatever emotion had bloomed within him was soon smothered as he flew through the air.

When Alfred was nearly on him, Ludwig jumped back and kicked off the nearby tree to somersault in the air and rolled when he hit the ground. He yanked a fourth stake from the strap buckled diagonally across his torso and rolled away when Alfred kicked off the same tree and flew towards him.

Mikhael appeared, his blade coming down on Alfred, who threw his arm up to block the blow. Blade met flesh, black and white lifting from the pulsing, black veins running over Alfred’s arm and wrapped around the metal. It hissed and bent, and Mikhael gasped and jumped back, shaking as he held his dagger up in front of him. His scarlet eyes were wide, cat-like pupils narrow, and Ludwig stood behind him, bow ready and aimed at Alfred’s chest. His hands held the bow steady, even as his lip trembled, nostrils flaring.

The sword dropped by Alfred’s feet, and he glared at the two dhampirs as a hiss slipped through his clenched teeth. His fangs had grown so long that they pierced his bottom lip.

“What the hell is he?” Ludwig asked, voice trembling.

Another pang hit Alfred, and this time, he took a step back, growing dizzy.

“Talk to him,” Mikhael ordered, stance not wavering.

“Are you ins—?!”

“Talk. To. Him.” Mikhael’s voice was low and filled with authority he hadn’t summoned in years, and Alfred felt yet another pang and shook his head as his hands trembled. “Look. He’s already slowing down.”

_ “Talk. To. Him.” _ Something shivered inside Alfred, remembering periwinkle eyes filled with anger and disappointment.  _ “It doesn’t matter that you were protecting him. He’s terrified of you, and you need to fix it.” _

“Alfred.” Ludwig’s voice was steadier, but it was cautious. And he kept the crossbow aimed at Alfred’s chest. “You need to snap out of this.  _ Please _ .” His eyes misted, blue returning to ring his pupils like halos. “You promised to protect me.”

_ “I won’t hurt you,” _ Alfred said, standing in the doorway of Ludwig’s small bedroom he shared with his father.

The ex-Hunter had left to walk through Harlem, though, to give the vampire and dhampir space to talk.

The teenage dhampir lay in his narrow bed, facing the opposite wall. A candle burned from the nightstand, making Ludwig’s messy hair shine like gold. He remained still and quiet, but fear perfumed the air, making what Alfred referred to as the Darkness stir within him. He swallowed audibly, trying to stomp down the feeling, the urge to… he wasn’t even sure. He didn’t want to.

_ "I shouldn’t have scared you,” _ Alfred said, jumping when he felt hot liquid spilling over his cheeks, burning his eyes.

He touched his face; his fingertips, burnt from pulling out the yew wood stake Gilbert had pierced his heart with to stop him, came away wet. Tears. Not blood but actual tears. He was crying, and Alfred became aware of his heart beating, of feeling the coolness of the mid-autumn evening, the humidity of New York City’s air. And he could enjoy none of it, knowing what he’d done to feel these things, what Ludwig had watched him do, what he had nearly become a victim of because of Alfred’s unsatisfiable Hunger.

Of the bloodlust that damned warlock had sown into his heart.

_ "I wasn’t scared,” _ Ludwig protested in a small voice that was still in the process of breaking, but he didn’t move.  _ “You should’ve just told me why I had to stay home.” _

Carefully, Alfred walked into the small room, and when Ludwig scooted forward, Alfred sat on the foot of the bed, trying to meet Ludwig’s gaze. His eyes were still yellow; he was angry as much as he was scared.

_ “I should have,” _ Alfred relented.  _ “And I shouldn’t have waited so long before… feeding. I… I don’t like that part of myself, having to kill. It reminds me too much of that warlock, what he’d made me do.” _

Ludwig glanced at Alfred briefly and went back to staring at the wall.  _ “Like what?” _

_ “Bad things.” _ More tears slipped down Alfred’s face, and his eyes were downcast.  _ “I… don’t like talking about it. But the way I was when fighting that nickar…”  _ He frowned when Ludwig flinched.  _ “I’m not… myself… when I’m like that. And the warlock tried to keep me like that for as long as my body could bear. After that, I was alone for a long time, not wanting to care about anyone. It hurt too much. I’ve tried helping people. But then make deals that they’ll help me next time. So that ends up not counting for much.” _

_ “Father never told me how we escaped the Hunters,” _ Ludwig said after a while.  _ “Only that you saved him and protected me.” _

_ “I’ll always protect you,” _ Alfred said, hoping Ludwig wouldn’t push that particular topic.  _ “You and your father.” _

_ “And Uncle Mikhael?” _ Finally, Ludwig moved his head to meet Alfred’s gaze.

Chuckling, Alfred replied,  _ “Oh, your uncle Mikhael can protect himself. Even I’m scared of him.” _

Ludwig smiled, though he tried to pull it down into a look of indifference as he looked towards the wall again.  _ “I… guess I can forgive you. It’d be a sin to leave an old man like you alone.” _

_ “Old man?” _ Alfred asked, scandalized but failing to fight back laughter.

Allowing his smile to remain this time, Ludwig nodded and watched Alfred out of the corner of his eye. After a while, he frowned, grasping at the cross he wore around his neck.  _ “You promise you won’t hurt me?” _

_ “Never,” _ Alfred promised, leaning forward and brushing Ludwig’s hair back from his eyes.  _ “I swear to stand by my word: I will protect you.” _

Alfred screamed, mind returning to the present.

The sound sent any nearby birds into the sky.

White-hot heat slipped between two of his ribs and found his heart, and Alfred collapsed into Mikhael’s arms.

The last thing he heard was the dhampir whispering into his ear, “Not yet, Alfred. You’re not allowed to leave us just yet.”


	8. History Caught Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of eating disorders.
> 
> And I forgot to mention it before, but I stole Astrophe's name from a book in Tiernan's "Sweep" series.

Astrophe was curled up in Arthur’s lap on the couch as Gilbert prepared tea in the kitchen. He switched his cellphone from hand as he worked, assuring Romano that things were fine.

“No, I don’t think it has anything to do with the break-up,” he said, filling two mesh strainers with tea leaves. “He hasn’t been getting a lot of sleep. College kids and their all-nighters, am I right?”

Romano sighed over the phone. “Says the grad student who’s been caught drinking coffee until four in the morning.”

“It’s for the aesthetic. That’s why I bought that black turtleneck and those glasses I don’t actually need.”

“If you start playing bongos and reciting slam poetry, I’m kicking you out.” Romano snorted, then let out a long breath. It sounded like he was smoking, and Gilbert decided to skip out on chastising him for the habit tonight. “Should I come over? I could make something real quick for him to eat when he wakes up.”

Panic ran up Gilbert’s spine. Bad idea.

The only way Mikhael and Ludwig were getting Alfred back here was by skewering his heart with a stake and best and outright beheading him at worst. Over time, he’d started to build up a resistance to the usual means of fighting vampires. A stake will knock him out the first time, but after that, it was in God’s hands.

Or the Devil’s, where Alfred was concerned, but Gilbert didn’t like dwelling on that line of thought when he could help it.

Romano didn’t need to see that. Plus, once Alfred awoke, he’d be Hungry. He might even need to kill. He was a year or so ahead of needing to drain a human of their lifeforce, but the closer he got to that date, the easier it was for him to lose control, for that dark magic inside him to take over.

“Oh, no thank you,  _ Schatzi _ ,” Gilbert said when he realized he’d hesitated. “Mik already prepared some soup with crackers. I don’t think Al should have much else for a while. I’ll let you know when he’s okay enough for guests.”

Romano was quiet for a while. While he didn’t always come across as such, he was intuitive and could tell something was wrong. His trust, however, won over, and he relented.

“Call me later,” he said after another exhale. “I still have some names Nonnuccio got for Feli.”

Gilbert rolled his lips inward as he watched the tea leaves darken the hot water. “Thanks. Maybe he’ll consider it.”

While it hadn’t been brought up to Alfred directly, he knew his friends thought he suffered from an eating disorder. Gilbert felt wrong lying to let them keep thinking this was the case. It felt like he was making light of the dangerous, and often deadly, disorder, and he felt especially guilty whenever he remembered that Feliciano had been anorexic before and for part of his transition. He had a much healthier relationship with food now, but there were times old feelings and thoughts returned to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

“Try to talk to him more about it,” Romano urged. He tried to keep his voice gruff and authoritative, but pain slipped through. He paused to take a pull from his cigarette and coughed seconds later. “Getting this sick even after some all-nighters isn’t normal.”

“Yeah…,” Gilbert whispered, still staring at the tea. “Thank you. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

“I love you, too. And your crazy cousin, by some miracle. That’s why I’m pushing so hard on this.”

“I know. I get it, I… I guess it’s just harder being in the thick of it, instead of just hearing about it.”

Romano was quiet for a bit, probably for another pull on his cigarette. “I understand that. Well, I’ll leave you to help Alfred. Don’t hesitate to call me if you need extra help.”

“I will, and thank you. I mean it.”

After another round of I love you’s, the couple hung up, and Gilbert slid his cellphone into his back pocket before taking the tea strainers out of the mugs.

“Do you take your tea plain or with milk and sugar?” Gilbert asked, checking the fridge to make sure there was still milk here. “Only milk here is half-and-half and the uber-sugary cream Ludwig likes.”

How the kid had never gotten a cavity in his life was beyond Gilbert.

“Half-in-half is fine,” Arthur responded after a moment, voice hollow. “Just enough to make the tea opaque and half a teaspoon of sugar, please.”

“Got it.” Gilbert grabbed the pint of half-in-half as well as the small, lemon-shaped bottle in the door.

He shivered when his fingers grazed the edge of a blood bag. He wasn’t sure why he just couldn’t get used to the sight; he drank blood himself, though it was only Ludwig’s and only once a year.

Gilbert added lemon juice to his tea first, then prepared Arthur’s. The witch looked up as he took the Doctor Who-themed mug. His black-painted nails clicked along the porcelain as he drummed his fingers nervously, not noticing Astrophe’s movement until he opened his face was almost in the cup.

The cat protested loudly as Gilbert caught him by the scruff and pulled him away from Arthur’s tea. “Astrophe, no. Caffeine’s bad for you, and Al will skin me alive if you get sick under my watch.”

Arthur flinched at the mention of Alfred being violent, and Gilbert sighed and went to the armchair.

Shifting so the lump of fluff could lay in his lap, Arthur asked, “Why’d he name his cat Astro…” He blinked slowly as it clicked, and he then stared at the cat, expression blank. “Cat. Astrophe.”

Gilbert shrugged. “He likes puns. He tried to talk Ludwig into naming his dog Beowoof.”

“So instead he named her Jane Pawesten….”

“Well, she is a girl dog, and he thought a name spinning off Beowulf wouldn’t fit a corgi too well.”

Arthur managed a smile as a lock of hair fell over his face. He tucked it behind his multi-pierced ear and sipped his tea, moving the mug out of the way when Astrophe attempted to drink it again.

The witch looked more like an early- to mid-twenty-something just escaping the strict confines of his parents. He had a death hawk, golden-blond blending into acid-green, but instead of having it standing upright, Arthur had his hair styled into space buns. He’d circled his eyes with eyeliner that had been blurred, making it look like he’d rubbed his eyes right after putting on the makeup. His top lip was painted black while the bottom was red, making him look as though he were pouting. The hoop at the end of his right eyebrow was crafted to resemble a snake, and the spider bite piercings on the left side of his mouth were studded with rubies. Paired with his red bottom lip, it almost looked like blood dripping out of his mouth.

He looked like the total opposite of Ludwig, who looked as straightedge as they came upon first glance.

“How’d you get the scars on your nose?” Gilbert asked, pointing to between his own eyes. He wanted to change the subject, seeing that thinking of Ludwig and Alfred was making Arthur worried.

And to think he’d been worried the worst to come out of talking to his son’s boyfriend for the first time was awkwardness.

When Astrophe gave up on the tea and jumped down and headed towards the parlor’s bay window, Arthur twisted again so one foot was on the floor and the other was pulled up onto his knee.

“I used to have a bridge piercing,” he said after a sip of tea. “Took it out recently, when I started having to wear reading glasses.”

“Hmm.” Gilbert drank his tea and looked over at Astrophe as he curled up on the seat by the window next to the copy of  _ Strange the Dreamer _ he’d left behind. “Have—”

“I’m not a child you need to tip-toe around.” Arthur’s pupils turned blocky like a goat’s, irises enlarged to where the whites could hardly be seen. “I can tell you want to know what I did to earn Alfred’s ire.”

He blinked, and his eyes went back to normal. When Gilbert nodded, he took a long sip of tea.

“I was young,” Arthur said, looking down at his tea and one arm crossing over his chest as he seemed to try to make himself smaller. “For witches, anyway, though that’s no excuse. I’d moved my practice from a village near Leeds to Manchester. Hated it at first. Worsley was a nightmare, and I thought I was going to have to find a place out in the country. Not ideal for making deals, which is why I moved to a city, and it’s not like isolating myself would make finding ale any easier....” His thick eyebrows rose as he glanced at Gilbert’s expression. “Right. I’ll move on.”

He took another sip of tea before continuing:

“Alfred arrived not long after the civil war ended. It didn’t take me long to figure out he wasn’t your average vampire, seeing as he had a heartbeat when I met him. Took some time before I could be convinced he  _ was  _ a vampire.” Arthur paused again to drink, finishing his tea and setting the mug onto the coffee table. “Once he realized I’d discovered what he was, he ran. Must say, that piqued my interest even more. Vampires aren’t known for retreating.”

“How did you figure it out?” Gilbert asked. “We’ve come across witches and even a nephilim before who hadn’t a clue.”

“Ludwig never mentioned coming across a nephilim.” Arthur looked up at Gilbert in awe.

“Nothing much happened, and Ludwig probably never brought her up because she was sweet on him, though that went unrequited. Now, you were saying…”

“How I figured Alfred’s… ‘condition,’ yes.” Arthur shifted in the couch again to sit cross-legged when Astrophe returned to jump into his lap. “It took a while. Him only coming out at night or when the sun was covered was the largest clue. He’d arrived in winter, though, so cloudy days were the norm. He also went out of his way to avoid me. I only noticed this a few times, so I trust there’d been many more times I never even noticed he was nearby. It was when he was close enough for me to read his aura, however, that I really noted that he was an oddity that required further… study.” He caught Gilbert’s questioning look as he scratched Astrophe behind his ears. “I made sure to have the contract crafted carefully to ensure I came out of it with abilities of greatest use. My soul is worth more than a few centuries of life and magic I’d require faery familiars for. Faustus was an idiot, only asking for twenty-four years of illusion magic he couldn’t even cast himself.”

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Some might argue selling your soul into imminent damnation is stupid regardless. All time feels short the nearer you grow to the end. Now keep going. You older damned ones like to go on tangents a lot.”

Arthur rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Alfred’s aura was … it’s hard to explain, but it wasn’t connected to a soul. It was like it was borrowed, worn like ill-fitting clothing. It was also fading. Not quickly, and I honestly didn’t notice it until after I’d had him captured for a while, but it made me first think he was simply in the middle of the Turn. I’ve heard of it sometimes lasting anywhere from hours to as long as a week, but at this point, Alfred had been in Manchester for over a month.

“Capturing him wasn’t easy. I didn’t want to drive a stake through his heart right away and kill him before I could study him.” He ignored Gilbert’s snort. “In all honesty, it was luck that ended up being on my side. I ran after him as he left the city and even made it into a nearby forest. I was losing energy and speed, and I can’t travel along shadows, having signed my contract with the Seelie Court, not the Unseelie or a demon of the crossroads.

“A unicorn had been living in that forest. Had I not been focusing on chasing Alfred, I would have noticed how some of the trees in that forest were still bearing leaves, as though caught in eternal summer. Unicorns are the only fae that strive to remain pure, and this one seemed especially riled-up about having damned ones in its forest. Or maybe it sensed that Alfred was… more cursed, somehow, and took greater offense to him, which is why I came out unscathed.

“Or maybe it left me alone so I could carry Alfred out of its forest. Don’t know. Not like it said anything to me. I remember feeling disappointed at first, however. The unicorn had run Alfred through the heart, shattering his rib cage. Getting him back into my office, of sorts, without detection was difficult but nothing Menthe, my primary familiar at the time, couldn’t help me with.

“But once I had Alfred on the table, I saw that his ribcage was nearly healed, so I got to work strapping him down with as many enchantments as I could cast in such a short amount of time. I won’t go into detail. It’s… gruesome, and I hope it goes without saying that I’m deeply ashamed of the actions I’ve taken, but to help paint a clear-enough picture, I will tell you that when Alfred’s heart started beating again, I was holding it in my hands.”

Gilbert set his tea on the coffee table, though there was still some left. He felt sick, able to picture what Arthur had done.

_ “Don’t go easy on me,” _ Alfred had told Gilbert not long after they started travelling together.  _ “Put a stake in my heart. Remove my heart entirely. Behead me. I’ve gone through it before and always came back. And trust me, when the Darkness takes over, you don’t want me coming back.” _

“Ludwig says I’m atoning.” Arthur’s laugh was hollow. “I may be a better person than I was, but I’m not delusional. I still signed over my soul, and no amount of lives I save or cats I rescue from trees won’t wash my blood off that contract or innocents’ blood off my hands. It won’t rescue the souls I’ve helped damn in order to gain more power. I’m going to Hell no matter what I do.”

Getting up, Gilbert took the mugs and looked up when a car drove up the driveway.

“That makes it more admirable, if you care for my opinion.” Gilbert headed towards the kitchen. “Anyone can do good things with the promise of paradise. If I was in your place and finally found the heart to feel regret, I’d probably just give up.”

Astrophe protested when Arthur set him down, and he followed him into the kitchen as Arthur refilled the electric kettle. “I want to sometimes.”

He looked back as the door opened. Mei told them she’d ordered food for them and was going to leave blessings around the house. The door shut soon after, and Ludwig joined his brother and boyfriend in the kitchen. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were red from crying, but he had been left unharmed.

Ludwig smiled at the sight of Arthur, however, drawing him into a tight embrace before Arthur rose on the balls of his feet for a kiss.

“I’m so sorry this had to happen on your first day,” he said when the kiss ended.

Arthur gently placed his hands on either side of Ludwig’s face, keeping eye-contact with him. “You have nothing to be sorry about. It’s my history that caught up with me. I should be the one that’s sorry.”

“Alfred should be, too,” Ludwig growled, his grip on Arthur’s wrists becoming tight. “He had—”

“Demons, like the rest of us,” Arthur interrupted, kissing Ludwig again and then pulling away. “Sit down, now, and I’ll prepare you some herbal tea. You don’t need caffeine right now.”

“I beg to differ,” Ludwig grunted as he headed towards the table. “Though beer might be better.”

“All that’s left is that apricot-flavored stuff Romano gave me three months ago,” Gilbert told him as he rinsed out the mugs. “And I agree with Arthur. Tea’s better. Can’t risk clouded judgement, even a little.”

Sitting with his head in his hands, his hair in disarray, Ludwig groaned but nodded.

Looking at Gilbert, Arthur asked in a low voice, “Could he truly still be dangerous? In that condition?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Ludwig answered before Gilbert could.

Arthur muttered he shouldn’t have bothered to lower his voice when standing in the same room as a dhampir, which managed to drag a snort from Ludwig.

Mikhael showed up, agreeing to a cup of tea but remaining in the archway between the den and kitchen as Astrophe wound around his legs and begged for attention.

“He’ll be Hungry,” he informed Arthur, and the witch shivered under his gaze. He felt as though the older dhampir were looking straight through him, and he didn’t like it. “Very, and we only have twenty-four hours at best to find someone whose blood we’re willing to wear on our hands.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, looking from Mikhael to Ludwig to Gilbert, who gave a slow nod as he stared at the tile floor.

“It’s how he gets his heart to start beating again, but his aura is stolen, not borrowed.” Gilbert looked up, quiet until Mikhael met his gaze. “We can’t risk leaving him alone, in case he wakes up sooner than we think.”

Mikhael nodded, but when he opened his mouth, Ludwig piped up:

“I shot him right in the heart with a stake, and it barely did anything. Uncle Mik  _ beheaded him _ .” He drew in a shaky breath. “Mikhael’s sword melted when it hit Alfred’s arm.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ludwig, waiting for him to say he was joking. He’d heard rumors hundreds of years ago. No,  _ rumors  _ wasn’t quite right. They’d been ravings of a drunken man Arthur had run from as soon as he smelled the brimstone, saw the dark magic staining his jagged aura.

He hadn’t thought of that man since. The mad warlock boasting that he’d managed to create a beast with the powers of a demon prince.

Alfred was a vampire, though. Right?

But if he could break through yew; survive being staked, beheaded, or having his heart cut out of his chest; and produce enough heat (or magic) to melt metal, then it looked like that warlock might not have been so mad after all.


	9. Pearls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while; I took on a part-time job, since I don't know when my actual job is supposed to open again. Also, I had originally started writing the chapter about the others finding someone they'd volunteer as tribute to be Alfred's "donor," but it makes more sense for this chapter to come before that one.

Before he could return to Twinkle City, Tadas first needed to visit Ivan, Ahmadou going with him while Carlos remained by the Soul Spring to assist in its cleansing.

Since the nearest Soul Spring now was in Fairbanks, Alaska, Ahmadou had bent the light around them as they flew, so Tadas could save his mana. Tadas hadn’t told him that he’d used a witch’s services to reach the Soul Spring twice now, guilt and fear pumping through his veins.

It was well past when he’d promised Sigurd a vial of vampire venom. It was only by Ahmadou’s and Carlos’s magic that Sigurd had yet to find him, but the Seal on his hand—glamoured so only Tadas and Sigurd could see it—pulsed as the days slipped by, reminding Tadas that he had yet to fulfill his end of their bargain.

Teeth grinding, Tadas kept up his mental walls to keep Ahmadou out. Tadas should ask for help, he knew, but angels were not to seek out aid from the damned. Plenty did, the ends justifying the means in their eyes, but Ahmadou did what he could to follow the Seraphim’s decrees to the letter, staunch in his belief that angels were to remain firmly in the light. Any bending placed him on the same ground as the greys, and he would not stand for such a thing.

Ivan’s current living space was in Surrey, British Columbia. It was a two-story blue house with white trim, a large yard surrounding it. A willowy person was growing clovers along the perimeter of the backyard and stopped to look up as the angels grew closer.

The person’s eyes glinted gold in the moonlight, and when he smiled, he showed teeth that were small and sharp. Black trails marked paths along his cheeks, and a thick, pale scar ran all the way around his neck.

“Yao,” said Ahmadou as he and Tadas landed. He waived away the glamour, and Yao’s smile stretched wider but didn’t reach his eyes.

Except for his partner, he didn’t care for the company of angels.

“Ahmadou.” The taller angel’s name tumbled from Yao’s mouth as a purr. “You have taken to your wings quite nicely. A sight to see. The door is open, and Ivan is awake. I shall remain out here, unless my services are required?”

“Not tonight.” Ahmadou nodded once and headed for the door, and Tadas offered a smile to Yao as he followed.

His smile no longer showing his teeth, Yao looked softer as he nodded towards Tadas, but when his eyes moved to Tadas’s right hand, his smile fell.

Tadas tore his eyes away before the faery could meet his gaze again, and he thanked Ahmadou when he opened the door for him.

Ivan descended the staircase as Ahmadou closed the door behind him, and he nodded when Ivan suggested they wait at the table while he heated up water for tea.

“There is also coffee,” he said in Enochian as he opened one of the cabinets. He knew Ahmadou would not like to risk Yao overhearing, so their meeting would need to be in their native language.

“Tea will suffice,” said Ahmadou, and Tadas agreed after a moment.

Heat rose to his face when Ivan smirked and retrieved coffee grounds from the freezer anyway. He took the chair opposite of Ahmadou at the round table; the chair closest to the wide window looking out over the back garden had books and folders sitting on it, a laptop and silver hand mirror on the table in front of it.

“Margarethe filled you in, I presume,” said Ahmadou once Ivan finished setting up the kettle and coffee maker.

Opening another cabinet, Ivan replied, “Much as she was able, and she did not sound pleased.”

“Does she ever?” Tadas remarked, and Ahmadou smiled as Ivan laughed.

“No,” said Ivan as Ahmadou said, “Rarely.”

The following minutes of light chatter helped ease tension. They spoke of past colleagues, Tadas mostly listening, as he was younger than the other two and only knew the angels they spoke of by reputation.

“… surprised when he chose to put in his name,” Ivan was saying about Archangel Roderich as the kettle whistled.

Ahmadou nodded. “It was a risk. He had been offered a messenger position, but actively seeking an aggressive position meant he was closing that door. And few of us expected he would become an Archangel, especially with Antonio and Herakles aiming for the position as well.”

“Isn’t Herakles a Principality of Prudence, though?” asked Tadas as Ivan brought him a cup of coffee.

“That happened after Roderich became Archangel,” Ivan said, nodding when Tadas thanked him for the drink. “There’s been rumors that Erzsébet stepping down when she did was… planned.”

“Only rumors,” Ahmadou reminded, and Ivan gave a nod after a moment. Ahmadou took a long sip of tea when he was handed his cup. “Paradise is filled with them. I would prefer to see such energy put into work.”

Ivan mixed cream and sugar into his coffee before joining the other two at the table. “I see no reason not to indulge in both. Listening shows what others pay attention to, what and who they’ll question, what they see or _want_ to see. That tells you a lot about them.”

“Hm.” Ahmadou appraised Ivan with a look Tadas couldn’t read but thought could be approval.

After a sip of coffee, Ivan said, “And that Soul Springs could be made profane was once believed to only be rumor.”

“Theory,” Ahmadou corrected. “Not the same thing, but now that we’re back on that topic, we should speak more on it, so Tadas can be ready when he returns to his assigned region.”

“Yes.” Ivan sighed, suddenly looking tired.

He adjusted the scarf he often wore. While Yao bore his scar like a dare, Ivan preferred to keep his covered.

“Archangel Roderich and I spoke of the theory that he’s moving west,” he continued, “and I’ve suggested bringing another angel to this region. Archangel Roderich will speak with Archangel Kiku for a second opinion, and if he agrees this is the right call, they’ll speak with one of the Principalities of Justice to give out the assignments as they see fit.”

“You are worried they won’t act quickly enough,” Ahmadou observed, and Ivan nodded. “I agree the process can be sometimes long, but they know perfectly well the importance of catching him.” He looked at Tadas. “You will need to remain close to the vampire in the meantime.”

Ivan looked up, but Tadas looked down to avoid his purple eyes.

“Vampire?”

“His name is Alfred,” Tadas finally said after a while. “I swear, I thought he was human at first.”

“Easy-enough mistake to make in his case,” Ivan muttered, and Tadas finally looked at him, eyebrows raised. “He helped me and Yao all those years ago.” He gave Ahmadou the side-eye when he coughed. “Still half-mad from what the warlock had done to him. Be careful if he gets angry. An oak or yew stake will slow him down the first time, but if he doesn’t calm down, they no longer have effect. I had to pin him to an elder tree with seven of my golden arrows before he was finally incapacitated.”

Ivan smiled without humor at Tadas’s and Ahmadou’s shocked expressions.

“And you can probably do the math. Most vampires don’t live that long, and I don’t even know how long he’d been a vampire by the time… all that happened.” Ivan shrugged and sipped his coffee. “But I do remember Alfred killing him, or so I had thought.”

“Really.” Ahmadou stared into his tea, thoughtful. He finished it and stood. “I need to return to Carlos. We will let you know of the state of the Soul Spring before we contact Archangel Roderich.”

“Thank you,” Ivan said, and Tadas stood and took Ahmadou’s offered hand.

“Thank you,” he echoed. “And thank Carlos for me as well.”

“I will. Remain strong, and keep better watch over your mana.” Ahmadou’s ear twitched. “We do not know the warlock’s motivations, but I feel it safe to expect that he wants those of us living on Earth to be weakened.”

Swallowing, Tadas nodded. Pale strands of his hair shifted over his face. “I’ll remain vigilant,” he promised, and Ahmadou left him alone with Ivan.

“Sit,” Ivan said after a while, and Tadas drew in a breath and obeyed. “How long had you been with Alfred?” He raised his eyebrows to where they disappeared behind his long, sweeping bangs. “Really, Tadas, I’d assume you’d see me as the last angel to offer judgement.”

Running a finger along the rim of his mug, Tadas kept his gaze on the near-black liquid. “A few months. We met at a bar one of my roommates likes to frequent. It wasn’t until he lost his temper when a human flirted with me that everything clicked into place.”

His wings drooped slightly, and he pulled them up again, though Tadas knew Ivan had read him already.

“Hmm.” Ivan’s tail swished slowly behind him. “Can you handle remaining with him?”

Finally, Tadas looked up and met Ivan’s violet eyes. “I can.”

Ivan looked doubtful, one of his wolf-like ears flicking, but he sighed and drained the rest of his cup. Getting up, he said, “Finish your coffee. I’ll grab an amulet one of Archangel Roderich’s messengers brought for you. Made by one of Archangel’s Kiku’s best artificers, they told me.”

“Unless the Creator Themselves helped in the amulet’s crafting, one can’t be made this quickly.” Tadas combed his hair back from his face and took a sip of coffee.

“Several had been in the works since we first got word the warlock may still be alive,” Ivan called as he headed up the staircase.

Looking over when the back door opened, Tadas watched as Yao rose to the balls of his feet and stretched his arms high above his head. His long, raven hair hung down his back, nearly reaching the small of his back, and the black trails running down his cheeks were now silver, tiny pearls rolling off his jaw and bouncing along the wooden floor.

Tadas handed him a napkin as Yao passed the table, and Yao offered a nod of thanks as he took the napkin and used it to dab away his tears before they could turn into more pearls.

“My clovers and the magic imbued into the house’s wooden beams will help,” he said, tone lifting and falling as though he were about to sing. “But whatever you’ve tied yourself to will find you soon as you’re out of our magic’s bounds.”

Tadas remained silent as Yao prepared himself a cup of tea. As it steeped, he went back into the den and picked up several of the fallen pearls and motioned for Tadas to hold out a hand, which he did, though he gave the faery a puzzled look.

Staring at the lines on Tadas’s palm, Yao spilled the silver and black pearls into Tadas’s hand and curled his fingers over them. “The eyes of my people used to be stolen by witches and other fae, simply to get our pearls. We’ve also been caught and tortured, to make us cry. Whatever you promised, add that. Any accumulated debt should be paid, but make sure to word it well beforehand.”

The pearls remained cool in Tadas’s hand, and he smiled before meeting Yao’s dark eyes. The lines on his cheeks were black again. “I appreciate your generosity.”

His smile playful, Yao nodded. “You’ll do well, and you know already I cannot lie.”

He sauntered back into the kitchen as Tadas commented, “Only you didn’t specify in what action I’ll do well. You could very well believe I’ll get myself killed by trying to make a deal.”

Yao laughed as Ivan called from the staircase for his partner to play nice. Tadas slipped the pearls into his pocket.

“I’m not singing into his ear,” Yao laughed. “I will take my tea upstairs. I should finish painting that commission soon.”

He waved at Tadas as he left, pausing as Ivan pulled him close for a short kiss that left both smiling.

It slipped from Ivan’s face, however, as he held up the amulet—a nickel-sized medallion with one of the Seals for the Principalities of Justice. Tadas took it from him and put it on and stood up. He remained still, though when he noticed a look on Ivan’s face.

“What is it?” Tadas prodded.

When a door upstairs closed, following instrumental music muffled by distance and walls, Ivan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “How much did Carlos and Ahmadou tell you about the state the compromised Soul Spring left you in?”

Blinking slowly, Tadas grew worried and wanted to shout at Ivan to stop beating around the bush. “Only that I’d died.”

For his centuries of service, Tadas had prided himself on being careful and stealthy enough to avoid losing any of his lives. Based on working with people who had lost lives in past missions, though, Tadas knew that his weeks of recovery was uncommon; however, he’d assumed the profaned Soul Spring had been what caused him to be so much weaker than other angels shifting into a new life.

“I thought so.” Ivan drew in another breath and crossed his arms as his ears folded back in irritation, which made Tadas’s hackles rise. “You must not have shown any signs, which is why they decided not to bother worrying you further.”

“Signs of what?”

“You drowned in water harvested from Eden,” Ivan said slowly. “That had been corrupted by a warlock—one of the Fallen.”

“You think….” Tadas blinked. “You think that could be enough for _me_ to Fall?”

“To start you on that path, on the least,” Ivan admitted. “But we… don’t know. This hasn’t happened before, and if Ahmadou had found anything… profane… in your mind as you were recovering, you’d be with the Watchers right now. I just want you to be warned, especially since you’re at risk for your allegiance—”

“My allegiance,” Tadas pressed, green eyes narrowed and nails digging into his palms, “is with the Seraphim and our Creator. Always and forever.” He cleared his throat and bowed. “Thank you for your concern, but I am capable of fulfilling this mission.” _Whatever cost it might have to my feelings for Alfred_.

“Very well,” Ivan said after a while. “You may return to your post.”

“Thank you.” Tadas left the house and bent light around him as he ran towards the woods the yard backed up into.

He jumped up and caught a tree branch, quickly scrambling up high enough to jump down and snap his wings out wide enough to catch air. He rose further upwards and headed south, reaching Twinkle City as the sun began to crest the east.

Seeing there was no one around to see, Tadas landed and headed for the shadow of the weeping willow in the front yard before letting himself become visible at the same time he put his glamour in place. It settled over him the way new clothes did, and he rolled his shoulders as though the motion could make the spell feel more natural. It didn’t, but like new clothes, it would settle over his body over time and feel less alien.

Eduard answered the door before Tadas even knocked, and he blinked, fist hanging up in the air stupidly as Eduard pulled him inside.

“Thank _God_ you’re okay,” Eduard breathed, surprising Tadas into a hug. “Kris and I were really worried.”

He pulled back from the embrace, Tadas still feeling outside himself but managing to mumble something that eased his friend’s worries.

“Well, you can pay us back with making more of those cookies,” Eduard said, and Tadas laughed. “Anyway, you’re lucky I didn’t have to close for once. Your cousin’s waiting for you in the den.”

“My—”

But Eduard was gone, and Sigurd appeared in the doorway connecting the foyer to the den.

The witch leaned against the doorframe, smiling as his pupils became blocky, like a goat’s.

“You’re overdue,” he said simply. He didn’t smile but didn’t appear angry, either.

“Could we renew the deal?” Tadas asked, somehow keeping his voice even. He wasn’t going to even bother asking how the witch had found his house, how he knew what he really looked like or what his name was. “I found myself… in an unexpected circumstance that left me incapacitated.”

Sigurd clicked his tongue as he slowly shook his head. It made him sound like a chastising mother. “Go make me some coffee. Heavy cream, three sugars. Make sure to drop the butter in first, or the cream will make the coffee too cool to melt it properly.” He turned, heading for the couch. “We can discuss your deal’s renewal then.”


	10. New Deals

“Do you still prefer I call you ‘the angel?’” asked Sigurd once Tadas handed him his coffee. “Or are we acquainted enough that I can call you Tadas now?”

Tadas went to get himself a cup of coffee, hearing a door upstairs squeak. He or Krisjanis really needed to get some of the hinges oiled.

“Yes, Tadas is fine,” he said.

“Hmm, Tadas….”

The sound of Sigurd rolling his name over his tongue sent a shiver down Tadas’s spine, but he remained silent as he poured coffee into his usual mug. It was a plain white mug but for the outline of angel wings around the quote “My ‘people skills’ are rusty” from Castiel on _Supernatural._ Alfred had given it to him; sometimes Tadas wondered if he somehow already knew.

Sigurd continued, “A form of Thaddeus, which comes from the Aramaic _Thaddai_. It’s possible that it comes from the word _heart_ , but it could also just be a form of the Greek name Theodore. Regardless, a Thaddeus is supposedly one of the Messiah’s disciples, according to Matthew, but other books instead use the name Jude. Did you choose a name with such vagueness about it on purpose?” He smiled as Tadas sat down across from him. “Are you a chosen follower? Or are the rest of us simply mistaken?”

“I guess it’s all up to interpretation.” Tadas took a sip of coffee, grateful Eduard had brewed a strong dark roast this morning and not one of the flavored coffees he usually drank. “I hope I’ve prepared your cup to your liking.”

Running the tip of his tongue over his top lip after a long drink, Sigurd closed his eyes and hummed. When he opened them again, his pupils were blocky, violet irises phosphorescent.

“You could have been a fine servant in another life.” Sigurd let out a chuckle and brushed his long bangs not held back by his hairclip back. “Then, I guess angels _are_ servants. Does your master know you’ve gone out of bounds of your orders? Your ilk don’t typically enjoy employing people they consider damned to Hell.”

Interesting wording, but Tadas didn’t care what Sigurd believed would happen to his soul once his contract with the Unseelie fae ran out.

Sigurd hummed again when Tadas remained silent, his expression impassive. “I’ll take that as a no.” He sipped his coffee again. “But you are quite lucky for your rarity. I don’t reconsider deals often. Although… you will have to offer something good to add on top of that vampire venom. Plus interest, of course. You _did_ leave me waiting for quite a while.”

He smiled again, the expression sending chills down Tadas’s spine. He much preferred the witch’s typical look of general disinterest. Having Sigurd’s full attention was not something he wanted or liked, especially with his best cards—disguise and his home’s location unknown—were out of his hand.

Still, Tadas kept his hands steady as he set his coffee onto the table in front of him and took hold of the painted clay key bowl Krisjanis had made. Tadas dumped out the coins inside, Sigurd tilting his head as he watched Tadas sit back up and reach into his pockets.

The sight and gentle _clink clink clink_ of Yao’s pearls hitting the clay wiped the smug look off the witch’s face. Tadas forced his mouth back into an even line as he took back his coffee and sat back up.

After a long sip, allowing Sigurd to pick up one of the pearls and hold it up to the light, Tadas said, “Eight pearls, from the tears of a siren.”

“An old one, too,” Sigurd murmured after scraping the pearl with one of his teeth. “A first-born, I’d wager. Very few of them left. That aren’t part of the courts’ nobility, anyway, and I doubt you’d been spending this time in the land of Faery. Angels don’t do too well there. Worse than humans, and they get only three choices.”

Power, death, or madness. Many would argue power and madness were one in the same when it came from the fae.

Tadas didn’t answer. Let Sigurd come to his own conclusions.

“Hmm.” Sigurd dropped the pearl back into the dish, staring at the black and silver orbs. “And for your interest?”

Closing his eyes, Tadas drained the rest of his cup to keep himself from sighing in relief. “How good is your cartomancer?”

A corner of Sigurd’s mouth lifted upwards as he raised his eyes to meet Tadas’s. “In what area?” He exhaled a small laugh at Tadas’s blush. “Good enough to satisfy humans. Matthew is an empath. Could have been a head-shrinker already, had he the money to afford tuition, but he keeps a steady stream of regular customers coming, eager to buy decks and trinkets as thanks for his shoulder to cry on. I’m not interested in having you take his place. I doubt you’d bring in even half the business he does.”

It wasn’t an outright no. “But you’d have me along-side him. Or, at least during his time off. You don’t seem like someone who’d prefer part-time staff, if you have to have staff at all.”

And Tadas didn’t really want to kick a college kid (or at the least someone aiming towards college) out of a job he may very well need.

“True,” Sigurd replied. “Hmm…, and an angel… I don’t need a second cartomancer.” He tilted his head again, pupils round again. “Bibliomancy? Or would that be too on-the-nose? Tessomancy is often popular, but there’s all those annoying factors to weigh in, such as the customer’s allergies or if they simply don’t like the tea. Ceromancy, maybe? I assume you’ve worked candle magic before.”

Tadas affirmed without offering details.

“Thirty days of working as a ceromancer in my shop, then.” Sigurd finished his coffee and set the mug onto the table. “Five hours each day. They won’t be all in a row, of course. My shop’s closed on Sundays”—he smiled at Tadas’s expression—“and I don’t need your and Matthew’s hours overlapping.” He grabbed the pearls and stood. “And your last day working for me is your new deadline for the vampire venom I was originally promised.”

“Why give me such a long window this time?” Tadas asked, standing as Sigurd started towards the foyer.

“I’ve given it some thought, now that I know where you lay your head at night,” Sigurd said without looking back at him. “I only know one vampire in this region.” He stopped at the foyer, turning only so he watched Tadas out of the corner of his eye, smile gone. “Do say, ‘Hello’ to Alfred for me. _After_ you get the venom. The boy seems to have some vendetta against witches, despite having needed my help. He may not take kindly to a… _friend_ … doing business with one.” He leaned against the frame of the archway between the den and foyer. “Do you agree to the terms of our new deal?”

“I agree,” said Tadas, and he hissed as the Seal on the back of his hand shot burning pain up his arm. It lasted a second, leaving the limb feeling heavy and cold.

“Good. I’ll text you a schedule tomorrow. Eduard was kind enough to tell me your ‘new’ cell phone number.” Sigurd dropped the pearls, and they disappeared before hitting the floor. “I would like to request you don’t disappoint me this time, but due to this horrid honesty hoisted upon me, I must instead admit I am deeply interested in what would happen if a divine being were to be chained to a witch.”

Tadas grit his teeth, and Sigurd offered a final smile before vanishing into thin air.

“Bastard.”

Despite the coffees, Tadas trudged up the stairs, intending to sleep until the next day. He was too exhausted to even think about meeting Alfred right now. He didn’t even know what he’d say or if he’d be able to say anything to him at all.

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” Tadas muttered to himself, pausing when he heard a door click shut. “Hmm?”

Fully awake again, Tadas turned to where he’d heard the noise and froze.

Krisjanis’s door. Was it the wind, or—?

The coffee. Eduard would have brewed his one of his vanilla or cinnamon-whatever blends, but like Tadas, Krisjanis preferred plain dark roast coffee. Eduard hadn’t mentioned Krisjanis was still home, but he hadn’t said he’d left, either.

Before he could think about it, Tadas was already knocking on the bedroom door.

“Kris?” he asked tentatively. “I’m back from visiting family. Eduard left a while ago. Are you home?”

No answer. Tadas felt the need to open the door and check himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to breech his roommate’s privacy. He waited a few more moments, then turned on his heel and headed to his room.

Even if Krisjanis _was_ home, he couldn’t have heard much, right?

* * *

Gilbert crossed his arms across his chest and looked down at Mei. “I don’t like you dealing with a witch.” He lifted an eyebrow when she opened her mouth. “And don’t say you’re a witch. You’re a _Wiccan_ witch. It’s not the same thing as someone that sold their soul to faeries or demons for power.”

Hands on her hips, Mei huffed and blew a stray curl out of her face. “I don’t appreciate you patronizing me.” Her dark eyes narrowed, her winged eyeliner making the small motion look more dramatic. “Don’t forget I moved up here _from_ Seattle. I’ve dealt with Sigurd before.”

Frowning, Gilbert narrowed his own eyes at the girl who barely reached five feet in heels. Adding in her round face and stick-like figure, he couldn’t see her even getting near an Unseelie faery’s bitch without ending up eaten alive.

“Kateryna would be willing to go with her,” said Mikhael from the top of the staircase, and both Mei and Gilbert straightened to look up at him. “She should have been awake for a few hours already. She’s always been an early riser. You will also need this.”

Gilbert caught the jar before Mei could, but based on the position of her hands, she would have dropped it, anyway.

“Mik—”

The dhampir cut him off, still watching Mei. “Try to be fast, and please do not go after anyone yourself. Alfred will never forgive himself if you end up with blood on your hands because of him.”

“Technically, I’m on my way to pay a hitman,” Mei muttered. She exhaled loudly and held out a hand, narrowing her eyes until Gilbert reluctantly handed her the jar. “You really sure? I’ve sensed something, but if she’s been this secretive…?”

Blinking, Gilbert glanced between the two, confused. He remained quiet, however, trusting Mikhael’s judgement, even if he wasn’t often willing to share the extent of his knowledge.

Leaning against the banister, Mikhael nodded. “Explain the situation, and she will help. Be sure to get to the point quickly, or you will not get the chance to.”

Mei nodded once and left without another glance at Gilbert, who dug his nails into his arm.

“I don’t like this,” he said, staring at the door. “And do I want to know what you’re paying the witch off with?”

When Mikhael didn’t answer, he made a move for the door, changing his mind and wanting to bring Mei back inside, but Mikhael was suddenly by his side and yanking him back as he panted. Using that kind of speed after a battle with Alfred wasn’t a good idea, especially if they’d need to fight the vampire again.

“I know you don’t,” he breathed, pushing Gilbert into the couch as Arthur asked if he should prepare more tea for them. “Yes, please. Black tea, and sweetened with jam for me. Ludwig will probably know where Alfred keeps it.”

Gilbert asked for a cup but with lemon juice added instead, ignoring Mikhail’s look when he did so.

Mikhael took the armchair as Ludwig moved to help his boyfriend. The older dhampir smiled as Astrophe jumped up and made a slow circle along his lap, nearly falling in the process.

“Kateryna is a nephilim,” he confided with Gilbert, smiling again when his pale eyes widened. “She’s hidden it well. I had no clue until a group of us met up Little Blue Flower on Davis. There must be another angel in the city.”

The presence of an angel awakened a nephilim’s powers. How long it took varied, however. Some said the moment another angel came within a few feet of a nephilim, the nephilim would start showing powers and gain traits of the animal their angel parent had spirit-bonded with. Others said the process took months and started slowly, some saying it began with physical traits changing while others claimed the magical powers were the first things to awaken.

“Someone after Alfred? Or to watch him?” Gilbert asked, and Mikhail shrugged.

“It’s possible,” he admitted. “No vampire had been made like he had before or since his creation, and I don’t know anything about the warlock that did it. You?”

Gilbert shook his head as Ludwig entered the room. He tried to comb his hair back from his face, but it only fell back forward over his eyes.

“He’s said the warlock controlled him,” he offered, and Gilbert sat up more, trying to meet his son’s eyes, but Ludwig was staring at the floor. “Controlled his mind. He said he managed to break the control either at the time or just before this one angel needed help. Alfred said he’d fallen in love with a faery, so Alfred hid the faery and protected him.”

“So that’s how he managed to earn a favor from an angel,” Gilbert muttered, rubbing his face as Arthur exclaimed, “An _angel_?”

“He already used up the favor,” Ludwig said, then sighed. “To get information out of the lilum that apparently threatened me.”

Nails digging into the couch’s armrest, Gilbert growled, “I’d have asked the angel to reap the lilum’s atrophied soul.”

“That was what he was going to ask for first,” Ludwig replied. “I convinced him to get information instead.”

“Of course you did,” Gilbert sighed, glaring at Mikhail when he laughed.

“You spent his life teaching him about mercy,” the older dhampir reminded him. “It only makes sense that he would have taken the lessons to heart. Now, get some rest. Ludwig, you, too. Arthur and I can take first watch.” He held up his hand when Ludwig and Gilbert both started to protest. “You’ve both known Alfred longer than either of us, know how better how to exploit his weaknesses, should he wake up before Mei returns. So go rest. You’re both bound to wake up at the sound of his coffin opening, anyway.”

 _Right_. Gilbert nodded, then said he’d wait until his tea was ready and bring it up with him.

Mikhail agreed but only when Ludwig started heading up the stairs, Astrophe jumping down Mikhail’s lap to follow him. None of them worried about the cat; even if the big fluff-ball weren’t smart enough to avoid Alfred when he was in this sort of state, Alfred would never harm a hair on Astrophe’s head.

Gilbert wasn’t sure how to feel about that, considering he and Ludwig were apparently free game when Alfred’s darkness took over.

“He’s always switched back, right?” asked Arthur as he handed Gilbert his tea.

Sighing again, Gilbert got up with a grunt, suddenly feeling every bit his age.

“Yeah,” he said, heading for the staircase. “But I’m afraid one day he won’t.”


End file.
